No One Ever Said That Life Was Fair
by Percentile
Summary: "For it to be a love triangle, A must love B who loves C who loves A. You're not part of a love triangle, with you, A loves B and B loves A. C is just and unwanted bisection. At most, you're part of a love right angle, I guess."
1. The Illusion of Disillusion

It would be a lie to call Kenny McCormic disillusioned with life. To be disillusioned with life, you must have once been illusioned with life. Kenny had never been under any illusion when it came to life.

He was born at home, in his parents' filthy bedroom, dirt poor, stifled and cursed. Ever since he'd been aware of the world, he'd been aware of the unfairness of it. How unfair it was that he was always cold, yet his classmates always warm. How unfair it was that he was never full, yet his classmates never hungry. How unfair it was that he didn't get pocket money, yet his classmates had collage funds. How unfair it was that he was so expendable, yet his classmates so precious.

He knew life wasn't fair, he wasn't stupid. He was used to it. All he could do was forgive it (or at least accept it) and get the fuck over it.

Yet throughout his teenage years Kenny became aware of what he perceived as the greatest unfairness of all. He became aware of Kyle Broflovski.

It was unfair that Kyle was so cleaver, the cleverest in his class. It was unfair that Kyle was so kind, the kindest man Kenny had ever known. It was unfair Kyle was so sharp, so quick-tongued and sarcastic. It was unfair Kyle was so moral, so just, so obsessed with making things _fair_. It was unfair that Kyle's temper was volcanic, that his anger was explosive, his presence so dramatic. It was unfair the way his clothes hugged his frame, the way he stood, the way he held himself, that bounce in his step. It was unfair that he was so beautiful, so porcelain, so regal and, well, so fluffy.

But all those unfairness could be forgiven. Because Kyle was Kyle, and by simply existing he made Kenny's life seem a little fairer then it was, like perhaps everything would be okay, like perhaps it had been worth getting out of bed this morning after all.

There was only one unfairness in his life that Kenny found unforgivable. It was so unfair, so painfully, jarringly, so gut-wrenchingly unfair that he had been shown Kyle, shown how perfect, how brilliant, how kind and loving Kyle was, only to be denied Kyle. Life showed Kenny Kyle, life made Kenny covet Kyle, dream about Kyle, _love_ Kyle, and then life gave Kyle to Stan. Wholly, undeniably, reciprocally to perfect quarterback Stan. Kenny didn't even get a look in. He'd never even had a chance.

That, Kenny thought, was unforgivably unfair.

* * *

A.N - Well, hello Sweethearts, this is my first attempt at a multi-chapter. It might come out a little disjointed because a few chunks of it are already written, but lot of gaps need filling in, so stay tuned, I guess. If I don't get a chance to finish it, I already have the end, so I'll make sure to put that up. At the very least you'll know how it ended. Thank you for reading, for reals, thank you. To all you guys who favourited my stories (and me), thank you, so much. And to all you guys who wrote me such lovely things on my oneshots (if you're reading this), thank you, it really meant a lot to me, you were so kind. You might have made me cry a little (I was sick, I sort of have a pseudo excuse). You really spurred me on to write some more. So thank you, so so much 3.


	2. Just Across the River

A text from Kyle woke Kenny up at ten that Sunday morning. It was a text begging for rescue, pleading for Kenny to come pick him up. Apparently his mom was going wild at his synagogues' bagel brunchen fundraiser thing, dragging him about, forcing anyone who'd listen (and everyone who wouldn't) to relive the exact moment she heard her darling little Kyle had got his acceptance notification.

Kenny had agreed to stage a rescue in a heartbeat, ecstatic that skipping church was finally paying off. He was out the door and running down the street before he'd even finished getting dressed.

It took him a little while to reach the synagogue, it would have taken him longer, but the prospect of rescuing Kyle, seeing Kyle, talking to Kyle, being near Kyle (made sweeter with the absence of Stan) brought out a run in him. Kenny was quite the runner when he wanted to be.

The first thing Kenny noticed when he reached the synagogue was the ecstatic face Kyle made as he excused himself from his mother, bid farewell to his Rabbi, beelined across the gala, and speedily exited with Kenny.

The second thing Kenny had noticed (before Kyle had pulled him away like Cartman had set the synagogue was on fire again) was that everyone around him had been dressed in smart clothes. He didn't know why people felt the need to wear stuffy, smart suits to worship. If he was God, he'd rather people dressed in what made them feel happy, or what made them look pretty. Floaty skirts or baseball shoes or that one pair of jeans you adore. He'd rather kids worshiped him in comfortable clothes they loved. At least then they wouldn't spend the rest of their lives equating him with awful, itchy suits.

That had been one of the many reasons Kenny had stopped going to church, he had hated his formal wear with a passion. He had been forced to wear the same awfully tacky, polyester, baby-blue suit right though his childhood, forced to wear it even when it got too small, forced to wear it when it tore, forced to wear it until he was fourteen and it quite literally fell apart at the seams. However instead of being given a new, decent suit at this vital junction in his life, Kenny had been given his dads old, too big, bright white plastic wedding tuxedo. The second he put that Vegas monstrosity on he had actually missed his fraying, ugly, baby-blue two-piece.

Kyle had never had that problem. His mother had plied him with stunning new suits at every junction in his life. From the hardwearing smart black thing wore as a kid, to the soft velveteen, dark green thing he'd breezed though his Bah Mitzvah in, to the deep, deep purple two-piece he'd graduated middle school in, to the fully black, serous outfit he'd attended Pip's funeral in, to the stuffy brown worn tweed affair he sported on generic special occasions.

This suit Kenny hadn't seen before. This soft grey, three-piece affair, heavy fabric, herringbone waistcoat, jacket slung so casually over his shoulder, shirt sleeves pushed up his shapely arms. The way the fabric clung to his curves, following the soft line of his sides, kissing against his skin. Kyle had been born to wear suits, Kenny decided, Kyle had been born to wear suits, and this one was the best yet.

Hazily Kenny wondered what Kyle did with all the suits he didn't wear anymore, what he had done with the deep purple ensemble or the forest green velveteen thing, suits that he grew out of years ago. Did he horde them in his closet? Had he donated them to the Salvation Army? Was some lucky kid running about in clothes that Kyle had once worn? Had Ike inherited them? Probably not, Ike wasn't cast right to wear Kyle's old clothes.

Kenny was sure that Kyle would have offered them to him if they'd stood a chance of fitting. But Kyle had always been short, Kenny always tall. Kyle had always had that tendency to embonpoint, Kenny had always gone to bed hungry. They just weren't designed to share clothes.

Chances were he gave them to Stan so he had something to hump when Kyle was busy. Even the thought of Stan sleeping cuddled up to Kyle's old clothes, clothes that had hugged Kyle's frame, clothes that held Kyle's scent, even this was enough to make Kenny feel ill. He didn't want Stan cuddling anything to do with Kyle, not Kyle, not Kyle's pillows, not Kyle's gym shorts.

Kenny bit his lip and made a mental note to steal one of Kyle's t-shirts next time he was at his house.

"Is that a new suit?"

"What, this?" Kyle gestured at the fabric hugging his skin, caressing his form. Kenny just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "No no. My mom got me it for my collage interviews. She made me wear it on today, said it was too expensive to sit in my closet."

"It looks good on you. Very flattering." Kenny understated dramatically.

Kyle pulled his uncomfortable face, the face he makes when people compliment him. "Thanks. It's too hot though. I'm sweating like I bitch."

Kenny's cock twitched in appreciation.

"Did you drive the truck?"

"Nah, sorry dude. My dad took it to church. Hope you don't mind walking."

Kyle made a dismissive, darling throaty sound. "Of course not. I'm just glad to be out of there." He punctuated this comment with a particularly expressive face. Kenny couldn't help but grin at him, he was so cute. "Besides, I could probably use the exercise."

Kenny bit back a reply of 'Of course you couldn't, don't be silly, you're absolutely stunningly perfect, now let's fuck in that bush', and chose to clear his throat instead.

For a while they walked in a silence, trudging through the summer dusting of snow. Kyle seemed to be lost in thought, staring at the ground, thinking about something. Kenny was just basking in Kyle's presence, so happy to be near him, so happy he had him alone!

Then his expression darkened, because he realised that in a few hours time Kyle would be back with Stan, and he would be on his own. Because that's just the way it was. Ergo facto, or whatever.

"Is everything okay with you, Ken?"

Startled, Kenny glanced across at Kyle, surprised to see a frown creasing his face. "Yeah dude, of course. Why?"

"I dunno, you just seem a little unhappy with things lately."

"Dude, I'm fine!" He tried to hide the hollowness of the words with a wide grin, but he knew how brittle the gesture was.

"I'm sorry you have to be around all this" he hesitated "collage stuff I guess. I know it's like, the only thing anyone's talking about now.

"Ah, I don't mind, it's nice to know what's going on." He answered quite honestly. Kyle just frowned some more, and Kenny relented, he hated seeing him worried. "There's some stuff going on in my life. It's a bit hard right now." He answered vaguely, well aware that the ice this conversation was skating around was thin.

"Really dude, do… do you want to talk about it?"

Kenny shuddered. He hated those words. "No thanks, I'm okay. But don't worry, I know where you'll be when I need you."

Kyle smiled weakly, still not happy, so Kenny tried changing the subject. "You must be exited to be going to MIT." He grinned at him, warmly, honestly, and Kyle grinned back.

"Of course dude. It's frikkin' MIT! It's amazing."

Kenny felt his heart start to race. "It's a fuck of a way away though. Aren't you going to miss South Park?" That hid the real question Kenny wanted to ask, that hid 'Aren't you going to miss me'?

Kyle pulled another face. "It's a two sided sword, I guess. I mean, it'll suck being so far away from my mom and dad and Ike, and all the guys who are staying here, and you, of course" even though it was clearly a tacked on reassurance, Kenny still felt his heart swell "but equally, it's _South Park_. I'll be glad to leave all the shit that happens here behind. We need to get out."

"You must be sad that you've got to leave Stan though? How are you guys dealing with that?" It was a sly question. Once they were separated, Kenny knew things could happen once they were separated.

Kyle just looked at him like he was crazy. "Stan's coming with me. If he gets into Boston he'll only be across the river from me. Like, half an hour away or something. We'll still see each other every day."

Kenny nearly fell over. He hadn't paid attention when Stan had mentioned what university he was going to. They'd sensitively not discussed collage when he was around, they'd not wanted to rub his unfortunate financial, and to a lesser extent, academic inability in his face. He really wished they had now. He really, really wished they had.

"R-right, yeah. And when do you find out whether he got in or not?"

Kyle bit his lip, nerves darkening his ivory complexion. "Three weeks or so."

"Well, I'll certainly be wishing him luck." Kenny lied.


	3. My Favourite Scratches

"How did your parents take it when they found Stan was following you to collage?"

"They didn't really care, I guess. I think they're just happy we're not going to the _same_ collage, and, you know, sharing a dorm or something. That might have been a step to far for them."

"I wouldn't have thought they'd be so cool with it, you know?"

"Dude, three months ago Cartman threw a street carnival to out us. He had fireworks and frikkin' jugglers and clowns and everything. He superimposed a very incriminating photo of me _on the front of my house_. I really think my mom's given up the 'you're too dependent on Stan' fight."

Kenny softened, it had been a dramatic, closet door destroying outing. "I'm sorry."

"Eh, don't be. I now no longer have to meet with random ugly Jewish girls, and she's either too ashamed or scared to ask where I'll be spending the night. It's win-win in my book!"

Kenny frowned, glancing about. He'd absent-mindedly been following Kyle (literally walking behind him so he could stare at his arse), expecting Kyle to be heading home. But they weren't heading in the right direction, they were walking through a very empty high street.

"Where are we going anyway?"

Kyle glanced up from his phone screen, looking back at him. "We're gonna rescue Stan. He's stuck sitting between Cartman and Butters at that brunch thing you guys do after church. He's not best pleased. Butters is boring him and Cartman is crushing him."

Kenny chewed his lip, exasperated. He'd at least hoped to have Kyle to himself for a little while longer. He'd hoped they could hang out, or play video games or something. Something more then a stroll across South Park making quazi-too-personal awkward conversation, anyway.

"I didn't think he went to brunch anymore."

"Usually I'm his excuse. He leaves me at his house and pretends he has to get straight back before I get lonely and chew on his furniture or whatever. His mom knew I was busy though, she made him go, and now she won't let him leave."

"He leaves you alone in his house? That's a bit weird."

"Eh, usually I'm still asleep. He sneaks out and sneaks back before I wake up."

"Didn't think you were that heavy a sleeper."

"Perhaps Stan's just that good a sneaker."

Kenny smiled despite the aching pain this conversation was causing him. Kyle was clever.

"I wouldn't have thought Stan's parents would have been okay with, well, you know-" He made a lewd gesture. Kyle just smiled.

"They brought him a double bed the day after Cartman's carnival."

Kenny sighed.

"We should hang out some more, Kyle. You know, like have some bro time or whatever before you leave."

"Of course dude, I'm not going for, like, five months. They'll be plenty of time for us to do shit. Five months is an awful long time, after all." Kyle stopped to bang on some glass.

A minute later Stan leapt out of the diner, and Kenny inwardly groaned. Striding towards them he placed one hand on Kyle back (completely ignoring Kenny) and began hastily pushing him down the street.

"Dude! What took you so long?"

"I came as soon as I could! Kenny's dad had the truck. We had to walk back."

Stan glanced back at Kenny, who had been trailing them with a quirked eyebrow. "Oh hey Ken, how are you?"

"Eh, can't complain." Silently, he tacked on 'better before you joined us'.

Once they had rounded the corner, and were safely out of the way of the diner, Stan slowed down, dropping his arm from Kyle's back and sliding it round his waist, gently pushing Kyle against him.

Kenny couldn't help but watch. Even though it hurt. It hurt like a bitch. Even though it sucked, Kenny found it impossible to look away. For a moment he just imagined himself in Stan's position, he imagined that he was the one cuddling Kyle, that he was the one kissing his cheek and whispering secrets to him, he imagined that Kyle was glowing at him like that, Kenny imagined the joy of having Kyle snake an arm around his waist, the joy of feeling him pressed so close. For a moment he imagined Kyle was letting _Kenny_ back him up against that cold brick wall.

Then Kenny blinked, and he was watching Stan lean over Kyle. He noticed that Stan was wearing a suit too. A dark blue, pinstriped thing that made his already broad quarterback frame seem that little bit broader. Suddenly Kenny felt very left out. It seemed the whole world was dressed up smart today, and there he was wearing his dad's torn, paint splattered jeans and an old, oil stained t-shirt. He didn't belong next to neatly groomed Stan and Kyle, all dressed to impress in their pressed Sunday best. He didn't belong anywhere.

Stan broke away from Kyle (causing Kyle to whimper and clutch at his lapels), glancing back, only just remembering a fiercely, dangerously, explosively envious Kenny was still there.

"Listen Kenny, I'm parked at the church. Just go wait by the car for a bit, we'll be right there, okay?"

Kenny glanced at the floor. There was an abandoned pen lying on the tarmac. Kenny briefly considered stabbing Stan through the throat with it, but that would probably upset Kyle. He really didn't want to upset Kyle. Sighing inwardly, he turned around and trudged off to the carpark, locating Stan's piece of shit Chevy easily enough amongst all the cars that had been made this millennia, and had panels were all the same colour.

Irritated he lent against the bonnet, trying desperately to think of anything, anything that wasn't Stan and Kyle, or, more pressingly, what Stan and Kyle were doing right now.

It wasn't working.

Five minutes later he considered keying Stan's car, but the vehicle was such a beat up piece of shit any mark Kenny made on it was sure to increase its attractiveness, not decrease it. Kenny sniffed, glancing down at the passenger side panel. A little to the left of the door handle there was a patch of intense scratches that looked as though someone had tried to claw their way through the metal. Kenny remembered how Stan had proudly declared those his favourite scratches. Kenny had asked him how he could choose a favourite when there were so many to pick from. Stan had informed him that those scratches had been made by the combination of Kyle's white studded belt, Kyle's arse, and the repetitive motion created during intercourse. He had then gone on to fully recount the event in such detail that by the end of it Kenny didn't know whether he was going to cum, cry, or kill someone.

Ten minutes later Kenny was remembering the day Stan had got this car, the day Stan turned sixteen. The car (Stan had called it Kylie, Kenny learnt years later) was old, beat up, but sturdy and reliable. The main body of it was a dingy blue, but the bonnet was a dull white, and Kenny had thought (and vocalised loudly) that it one of the ugliest cars he'd ever seen. Still, they had all piled in and Stan had intended to drive them to Denver. Half way there, sick of Carman insulting his ride and insulting his Kyle, he pulled up on the side of the road, physically pulled Cartman out of the car (no mean feat, considering the size of him), forced Kenny out too, for reasons Kenny wasn't quite sure of (he wondered if it was because he'd loudly dubbed the car Fugo Uggo), and then continued on his way with just Kyle. At the time, Kenny had thought Stan was just being a pussy. In hindsight, Kenny realised Stan was probably ecstatic to have an excuse to drive just-Kyle somewhere nice and secluded so he could fuck him repeatedly on the backseat with makeshift spit-lube.

Fifteen minutes later and Kenny was remembering the day after Cartman had outed Stan and Kyle. Kyle and been distraught and locked himself in his bathroom. Stan had been distraught and locked himself in Kyle's bathroom. Cartman had thrown and after carnival party, and Kenny'd been heartbroken and locked himself in his bedroom. He'd always suspected, but then everyone had. He'd allowed himself to believe that perhaps Kyle was attainable. That perhaps, just perhaps, him and Stan weren't like that. That perhaps Kyle could have a Super Best Friend and a boyfriend. Stan's sister had been furious, raging. She'd stormed out the house and used a screwdriver to engrave the word 'fag' impossibly deep on the driver side door. The next day (whist Stan's parents were buying him a new bed, apparently) she'd woken up, stolen her brothers keys, and driven his car somewhere. She brought it back twelve hours later with a brand new (second hand), bright kelly green drivers' side door, and a full tank of gas. She whispered an apology, and she gave him his keys back. And no one ever spoke of it again.

Twenty minutes later Kenny was beginning to think that perhaps he wasn't the only one who thought that Kyle looked particularly delicious in that soft grey suit.

Twenty-one minutes later Kenny swore, kicked Stan's car so hard he gave it another dent, and left.


	4. Wonderfully Sacrilicious

Kyle didn't call to see where Kenny went. Well, neither did Stan, but Kenny didn't give two shits who Stan called, he just cared about Kyle. For a while Kenny brooded, feeling sore before he realised they'd both have been more then glad to be left alone. This way, Stan and Kyle were spared the inconvenience of having to pull their tongues back out each others mouths every five minutes in order to partake in some very awkward, but very obligatory small talk with him.

Still, Kenny was a bit put out Kyle hadn't called him to see where he was. Even a text would have been nice. Just a few sentences asking where he was, and if he was okay. Just a few words even, just a 'where did you go?' or an 'are you alright?' Just a few letters even, just an 'R U OK?' But there had been nothing all day. Nothing all night. Nothing. Nothing, nada, zip and zilch.

"You're pathetic Kenny."

"I love you too, Eric."

Cartman just snorted, dropping his overloaded tray on the table before he crashed his bulk down next to him on the bench. Kenny didn't even lift his head from his arms. The other students had just begun to mill down to lunch now, and the worthless chatter was already giving him a headache. Kenny felt Clyde sit down next to him, and a few more people join their table, but he didn't pay them any notice. They didn't pay him any notice. It's just the way it was.

Kenny had arrived at the canteen early because he'd skipped Calc, and had spent the past hour perched on the bathroom sink, eating his bread filled bread sandwich with a look of absolute distain. Cartman had arrived early to lunch because he was always early to lunch. He was always the first to load his tray full of everything they say you shouldn't eat. Always the first to curse out and flip off the dinner ladies. That was just what Cartman did.

"You're no fun anymore Kenny."

"I know."

"You're so pathetic and mopey these days, Kenny."

"I know."

"No one will ever love you Kenny."

"I know."

"You'll die alone in the gutter, Kenny."

"I know."

"You're a poor, worthless piece of shit Kenny."

"I know."

"God, I hate you Kenny."

"Eric, the only man I'll ever love is as good as eloping to Massachusetts with the schools resident uber pussy." Kenny hissed it, careful to keep his voice deadly low. "That's it. There's no hope anymore. Game over. I'd kill myself if it wasn't so fucking redundant."

"God. You're _really _no fun anymore. Stop bleeding out your massive vagina and get over it. Jeez."

When Cartman had first found out about Kenny's delightful state of Jew adoration (Kyle had inadvertently given Kenny a very noticeable boner during one particularly intense gym class, and Cartman had been the only one devious enough, or alert enough, to put two and two together) Kenny had been sure Cartman was going to scream it from the rooftops. Kenny'd not come into school the next week he'd been so frightened about what Cartman would do.

But Cartman didn't do anything. Then a week passed, and still nothing. Then Kenny came back to school, and still nothing. Then a month slipped away, then two, then three. Still Cartman did nothing. He claimed it was because he was saving it up to cause maximum pain and disruption. He claimed he needed more proof so Kenny couldn't possibly deny it. This would make his big exposure all the more painful. He claimed a lot of things Kenny didn't doubt for a second. Still, Kenny also didn't doubt that a little part of Cartman, a tiny, little bit of him, a bit hidden by all that fat and hatred, was just happy to have a secret with someone. To sort of do something real friends do.

Besides, as Cartman had once pointed out, simply telling Kyle that Kenny loved him was stupid. For one, Kenny could deny it. And even if he didn't, it probably wouldn't do anything more then piss Stan off a bit (and Stan was a pussy, so pissing him off a bit was pointless), cause a little embarrassment, and swell Kyle's (in Cartman's opinion) already overly engorged ego. He needed to gather some evidence (Kenny having known Cartman for nearly all his life, made sure to never, ever create any evidence of anything, let alone leave it lying about) then wait for a really, really awkward, incriminating moment in time to drop the bomb.

"Listen, Kenny," Cartman made sure to shovel a shitload of potato into his mouth, and to push his face right up against Kenny's before continuing with his speech. Just so he could be as repulsive as possible, Kenny guessed "if it makes you feel any better, Kyle is really ugly. I mean, just look at him! He's a hideous, Jew beaked daywalker. You did well avoiding his evil clutches. Shame we couldn't save Stan, but it's not like anyone cares about him anyway. I mean, more people care about him then you, yeah, but you're poor. More people care about me then him, so it all works out in the end."

"Eric, you are fucking retarded."

"Ay! I'm trying to make you feel better Kenny!"

"Please don't."

"What's he doing?"

Kenny snapped his head up to watch as Kyle heavily dropped himself on the bench opposite, pulling out his lunch and beginning to rifle through the brown paper bag. Kenny couldn't help but grin when he saw him, he'd not seen Kyle all day.

"Fuck you Jew, I'm not doing anything."

Kyle just ignored him. It was the tactic he found most effective.

"Where did you go yesterday anyway?"

"Waited for a bit then went home. You guys were taking fucking ages."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I guess we did get kind of carried away, you know..." He waved an apple about in an overly dramatic, dismissive gesture, before taking a bite, covering his mouth as he talked through it. "Sorry we left you waiting."

Kenny felt a stab of anger over that 'we'. Even when Stan wasn't there, it was still always 'we'. He never got Kyle as an 'I' or just a 'me', he never got Kyle on his own. Even when it was just the two of them, even when Kenny and Kyle were alone, there was still this ghost of Stan traipsing about in the shadows. Kyle was only ever an 'us' or a 'we'. It wasn't fair.

"Doesn't matter." Kenny lied. Next to him he could feel Cartman lurking at the edge of the conversation, shovelling food into his mouth as he watched the back and forth like a game of tennis, narrowing his greedy, dark brown eyes. For a second Kenny had the urge to elbow him in the face so he and Kyle could have some privacy, but he managed to control himself. "What did you do for the rest of the day anyways?"

"Oh, we drove back to Stan's house, tore off our suits and fucked like dogs on the kitchen floor!" Kyle announced conversationally.

On Kenny's left Cartman began to choke violently, swearing and pounding his chest. On Kenny's right, Clyde declared it was "nice" before he reached across the table, giving Kyle a movie perfect high-five. Kenny just felt his heart jar against his ribs, before he got that sinking feeling in chest. He hated those oblivious, blaze reminders. He hated how they reminded him of what he didn't have.

"What's wrong with Cartman?" Stan dropped his tray down on the table, dropping a can or something into Kyle's lap, before sliding next to him on the bench and pushing their thighs together.

Cartman just pointed at Kyle, still hacking up a lung, still pounding on his chest.

"Fucking… Kike… Trying… Kill me!"

Kyle just glanced at him and shrugged.

"Was _that_ all you did yesterday then?" Kenny asked, fighting to keep the bitterness from his voice. Fighting to keep himself from driving a fork into his face.

"No, we took a shower and got dressed. Stan drove me down to Denver and we went to Burger King."

Kenny snorted. "Jeez Stan, you really go all out for your dates, don't you?"

"He wanted a bacon double cheeseburger, I wanted to hump him in a carpark. We both got what we wanted."

Kenny flinched at that mental image, turning to Kyle. "How was it?"

Kyle just grinned. "Wonderfully sacrilicious."

Stan laughed and caught Kyle's shoulder, pulling him into a chaste kiss. Kenny just exhaled and looked at the table, pushing a few crumbs about with his fingertips.

The conversation progressed, but Kenny didn't care. He was too busy rearranging his crumbs, making patterns on the scratched, stained lunch table. Across him Kyle shouted something at Cartman, and Cartman snapped back. Across _from_ him Stan broke it up, probably by kissing Kyle again. It was the only thing that worked.

Conversation continued, but Kenny didn't pay attention to it until someone, until Kyle, gently kicked his knee.

"What's the matter with you anyway Ken? You're so morose lately, it's a bit disconcerting." Kyle looked so lovely when he was concerned. So kind, so caring, so beautiful. So very, very perfect.

Kenny sighed. "Kyle, have you ever wanted something you couldn't have?"

Kyle snorted. "I'm a diabetic Jew. I'm not allowed bacon, cheeseburgers, ice-cream, coke or anything with fucking _sugar_ in it. Go figure, Kenny."

Kenny resisted pointing out that not being allowed to eat something never actually stopped Kyle from eating it. Not being allowed to do anything never actually stopped Kyle from doing it. Kyle was strong willed and arrogant. Strong willed and gorgeous. "No Kyle. This is serious. Have you ever wanted something so bad, so bad it hurts, but you know you can't have it. Like, it's impossible for you to get?"

Kyle frowned. "What can't you have Kenny?"

"Just go with me on this one Kyle."

Kyle put his elbows on the table and crossed his arms. For a second he just gazed out the window, and Kenny began to think he'd lost him. Then-

"Nothing is impossible Kenny. Nothing. You live in South Park, you fucking know that. Life may seem a bitch at times, but there's always a way to get what you want. You just have to try, I guess. If you really want it, whatever "it" is, that badly, you have to be willing to put your neck on the line and risked everything you have for it. There's always a way to get what you want. If you're willing to go the extra mile for it, willing to move mountains for it, willing to make a fool or yourself for it." Kyle flicked his eyes across the table to where Cartman was sat, muddy brown eyes fixated on this conversation. Kyle narrowed his eyes at him, and Cartman flipped him off, eliciting Kyle to hiss "Or if you're willing to hurt enough people for it."

"Come on Ky. You said you'd help do my maths homework." Stan had stood up and was tugging at Kyle's sleeve. Just like a pathetic little kid so, so desperate for his mom's attention. Kenny just scoffed.

"Christ Stan" suddenly, the conversation with Kenny was forgotten, and Kyle was standing up, "Sometimes I swear the only reason you fuck me is because I'll do your homework."

Stan just grinned. "Don't be stupid. I fuck you for your ass. I'll marry you because you do my homework."

Kenny just watched them walk out, chewing silently on his lip. Kyle was right, Kyle was right and he knew it. He could roll over, he could just let Stan have Kyle without a fight. Or he could try. He could try, try and probably loose, but there was a chance, a tiny, slim little chance that he could try, try and win.

There was a chance he could win.


	5. Quite Horrifically Delightful

Kenny decided to get productive. He decided he needed a plan. He cut the rest of school to get started right away. It wasn't like school actually mattered to him anyway, he and Kyle had pretty much zero classes together, and it's not like he needed good grades for anything. He could graduate with a perfect 4.0 and he'd still only ever amount to head burger flipper at McDonalds. That was his fate, regardless of what grades he got.

So instead of hanging about in school, Kenny decided to create a plan of action. Operation Catch-A-Break, or Operation Make-Life-Fairer, he didn't really care. Cartman was always good with naming these kind of plans-heck-Cartman was good with executing these kinds of plans too, but Kenny wasn't about to ask him for help. Asking Cartman for help with anything was about as smart as flipping off Cthulhu.

The first place Kenny decided to head was the local Wall-Mart. They had computers and laptops and iPads in there. They were hooked up to the net in there. They didn't have irritating drunken parents in there. Well, they did, but they didn't have _his_ irritated drunken parents in there. He could go and research all this college shit he'd not been privy (or paid attention) to until his heart was content. It might help him formulate a plan of action if he knew how it worked.

He was glad it was a Monday afternoon. Hardly anyone does their shopping on a Monday afternoon. Kenny was able to commandeer a sleek little laptop tucked away at the edge of the display and get to work. Just so long as he stayed quiet, none of the employees would give a shit that he was there. They were too busy re-pricing shampoo or stacking soup tins or whatever it was that Wall-Mart employees do.

Kenny knew that if Stan didn't get into Boston, he had a chance. Kyle, bless him, never did so great on his own. He _needed_ his friends, he relied on them. Right now, he _was_ too dependent on Stan, he'd always been too dependent on Stan. Everyone knew it. If Stan wasn't there though, well, Kenny could be. When Stan was somewhere else, busy with his classes, busy with his workload, or busy with his new friends, Kenny could be there for Kyle. Kenny could get a job, and a car, he could drive across the country to be closer to Kyle. He could save up, he could save up and _leave South Park_, he could save up and move nearer Kyle. He could oust Stan and finally get the upper hand.

But Stan was the bloody starting quarterback. He was the pitcher. He'd been the fucking homecoming king. He helped Kyle out with the school newspaper, he got involved with the schools clubs, he helped out with all those community projects. He coached fucking _pee-wee hockey_. And he wasn't stupid. He might not be a smart as Kyle, he might not be as smart as Butters or Wendy even. He might only be average. But average was by no means stupid. By the looks of it, getting into Boston University wasn't going to be too hard for Stan.

Then Kenny discovered something. He discovered that Stan had to confirm with Boston if he got an offer. He wouldn't have to go just because he got in. Kenny felt his heart quicken. This meant that he had three weeks, three weeks to get Kyle, three weeks to win over the love of his life, and cause Stan to freak out. He would turn down the Boston offer. He wouldn't go with Kyle, he wouldn't _be_ with Kyle. That was the break Kenny needed.

Just so long as Stan didn't go to Boston, everything would be peaches.

Kenny had three weeks to break them up.

Kenny arrived back home slightly early, a hint of a grin shadowing his face. Neither of his parents paid him any notice as he snuck passed them into his room, pulled out a notebook, and collapsed on his creaking, broken bed.

For the next hour Kenny just stared at the paper in front of him, trying to think up a plan. He really had no idea how to go about breaking up a relationship. He'd never done it before (well, never intentionally, any way), he'd never had it done to him before, heck, he'd never even seen it happen before. Most of the time navigating relationships wasn't all that hard for Kenny, but then most of the time he was just in it for the sex. Not with Kyle, he wanted more then sex when it came to Kyle. He wanted all of it when it came to Kyle.

Another hour passed and Kenny still didn't have any plans. He knew all he needed to do was sway Kyle, seduce him and woo him. He knew he needed to destroy Stan's connection, to spark a jealously that would engulf them, a flame that would see their relationship would burn. He knew he had three weeks to tank Kyle and Stan's faggy little soul mate thing. He just had no idea how.

Just as Kenny was falling into deep hate with his empty sheet of paper, there was a soft knock on his front door. His mom answered it, and Kenny heard gentle talking echo through the walls.

The next thing he knew, Wendy was standing in his doorway. It was quite bizarre. She was just looking at the cracks that mapped his walls and ceiling with a sad, empathetic expression. She looked so out of place, Kenny thought, neat, brushed, pretty Wendy Testaburger with her good, cultured middle class upbringing, he smart brown satchel and her clean, fluffy lavender sweater. Stood against his graffitied, dirty little room her pretty sleekness was jarring.

Kenny stood up and gestured her in. She thanked him and shut the door behind her. Kenny offered her a seat on his bed. She took one look at the filthy, stained, threadbare covers and politely declined, choosing to stand. It was all very awkward.

"What are you going here, Wendy?"

She hesitated for a second, clutching her satchel to her chest, but decided not to beat about the bush. "Eric told me about your situation. I'm here to stop you doing something stupid."

"Eric told you about my pathetic little love triangle, huh?"

Wendy just paused for a moment, tugging on a stand of her hair, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "I've always found the term 'love triangle' to be grossly misused. It suggests that every point has a connection, that everyone is loved. For it to be a love triangle, A must love B who loves C who loves A. You're not part of a love triangle, with you, A loves B and B loves A. C is just and unwanted bisection. At most, you're part of a love right angle, I guess."

Kenny just stared at her. She stared right back at him. He was pretty sure nothing of what she had just said had made any sense.

"What are you saying Wendy?"

She sighed, rubbing her eyes, trailing lavender eye shadow and mascara across her face. "I'm saying that you should back off. If you push your luck this, you'll loose him. Don't try get in between them. I know what it's like to be caught between those two. Nothing can separate them." She paused slightly, before spitting out "For Gods sake, I was _actually_ dating Stan and I still couldn't separate them! It's more then sex or a relationship or a friendship or whatever with those two; it's like this force of nature or something. They're just built to be together, that's just the way it is."

"I'm Kyle's best friend Wendy. You were just some random girl on the sidelines who popped up occasionally. No offence, or anything, but we're not really in the same boat here."

"You might be his best friend, but Stan's his Super Best Friend. Whatever cards you try to play in this, Stan's always going to have one up on you. So just don't start playing any games. You'll only loose it all when Stan ends them."

"And what if I win?" Kenny bit.

"And what if you don't?" Wendy bit back acidly.

Kenny bit his lip, cracking his knuckles in a way that made Wendy wince.

"At least I'll have tried, I guess. Stan and Kyle aren't perfect you know, they've had their fair share of fights and issues. And this _is_ South Park Wendy, anything can happen in South Park."

Wendy inhaled sharply. She was getting irritated. "I don't think you fully understand what you'd be letting yourself in for Kenny."

Kenny just snorted. "Why do you even _care_, Testaburger?"

"Because Kyle is my friend and I dated Stan for more then half my frikkin' life and they're _happy_! I care Kenny!"

"So what, you just don't want me to upset your pussy of an ex?"

"You don't understand how he'll get!" She snapped at him, one purple nail raised and pointing at his chest, "Just because Stan was gifted with a set of the worlds most unruffleable feathers doesn't mean he won't get angry if you push him! For God's sake Kenny, if you threaten what he has with Kyle he'll do more then leave you on the roadside! He'll get really _really_ angry!"

"I'm not some stupid fucking kid Wendy, I can make my own decisions! I have just as much chance with Kyle as Stan does, and there's nothing stopping me from having him. I fucking _deserve_ him! And I'm not just going to let some whale-loving pussy steal away the love of my life!"

She just glared at him, haughty and hard. "You might not be a kid McCormick, but if you really think you can compare to Stan, you _are _fucking stupid."

Then she flounced over to his door, flung it open, flipped him off, and left. The drama of her exit was somewhat muted when Kenny heard her thank his mother for her hospitality and politely say goodbye, but he appreciated what she had been going for.

Collapsing back onto his bed with a groan, Kenny began to run his hands through his hair desperately. He really needed to go see someone for advice. He needed to know what the fuck Cartman was playing at telling Wendy about his shit. He needed to know if she had a point, if he should back off. He needed ideas on how to break up a relationship. He needed ideas on how to win over the love of his life, on how to woo a taken man. He needed advice on how to tell someone who was taken that he loved them, and not come off as the bad guy. He needed ideas on how he could tell Kyle that he loved him, and not have Kyle freak out. No, he needed to know how he could get Kyle to say it back. He just needed to know.

Usually in relationship situations, he'd go to Kyle for advice. Kyle was good with relationships; he put a lot of value in love. Kenny loved that about him. Still, he couldn't really go to Kyle. Kyle was a little bit nosy (inherited from his mother) and very smart. To get into a conversation with him about this, that might be tempting the fates.

Besides, Kyle would never advise him on how to break a couple up. That just wasn't the way he was. He'd probably just sit there and comfort Kenny. He'd talk soothingly and say lovely things. Kenny might even have got a cuddle off him. It was a lovely prospect, but not what Kenny needed right now.

He supposed there was always Stan. Stan never pushed things, so if he pretended it was just a girl from the ghetto Stan would accept that. He wouldn't care about who she was. He wouldn't even suspect it was Kyle. Stan wasn't the best when it came to relationships, he had a habit of being too jealous and too much of an emotional doormat, but that might help him negate the whole breaking up issue. Besides he'd managed to maintain a long-term relationship with Wendy for a good decade, and as depressing as Kenny found it, he was doing okay keeping Kyle happy. He must know something about how they work then.

Kenny bit his lip. There would be something quite horrifically delightful about sneakily going to Stan for advice on how to break up _his own_ relationship. It was quite a devious, brilliant plan. It smacked a bit of Cartman, and that worried Kenny. He never, ever wanted to stoop as low as Cartman. There was no way back up from a pit that deep.

He knew he and Stan had once been close, they'd once been good friends, but envy had stripped all that away from him. Now Stan was just his rival. Perfect, smart quarterback Stan, Stan beloved by the entire town, homecoming king Stan. Kyle's _boyfriend_ Stan. Kenny cracked his knuckles, making up is mind to pay Stan a little visit.

After all, all is fair in love and war.


	6. Litres of Tepid Coffee

It was dark already. It got dark so fast in South Park. It couldn't be later then seven, and already the streetlights were glowing orange and the stars were glinting in the ether, dancing about with clouds and the mountains that surrounded them. It _was_ cloudy tonight too, occasionally the moon would disappear completely behind a pillar of murky grey fluff. Occasionally it took five, ten, fifteen minutes for it to come back out. It was going to snow tonight, Kenny realised. It was going to snow hard.

Sitting outside the Marsh household in his dad's shitty green pickup truck, Kenny began to doubt himself. He'd been so sure that this was a good plan, a good idea, he'd left for Stan's house straight away. Now he wasn't so sure. He had a bad, bad feeling, a bad feeling Wendy might have been a little right, and an even worse feeling that being this sneaky was something Cartman would do. Kenny wasn't the most moral of all the ducklings, but he didn't want to be a bad person, and he'd _never_ want to go down as the bad guy. But he didn't want to be the guy who had nothing and did nothing either.

For a second he wondered if he should just go and tell Kyle the truth. It probably wouldn't be so bad, Kyle would surely be nice about it. He'd comfort him and apologise, but he'd stay with Stan. That's just the way it would go. If Kenny wanted to stand a chance in all this, he needed to level the playing field. He needed to spark of something big, cause some sort of calamity. To do that, he needed to play dirty. He'd love to do it playing fair, but then life wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair, life didn't play fair, so why _should_ Kenny?

There was a difference between being a hero and being a martyr. And although Kenny loved the idea of being a hero, he was adamant that he'd never, ever go down a martyr.

For a second he just clutched the steering wheel, gritting his teeth, thinking. He _could_ turn back, but then he didn't have any other plan. This was it.

Shelly's car was sitting on the driveway, Kenny could just make out her peeling, fourth-tier college bumper stickers. Stan's tri-coloured monstrosity was parked up in front of the house, it's scratched, dented, rusting existence casually devaluing the entire neighbourhood. He didn't know where Randy or Sharon's cars were. Sharon's was probably in the garage or something. Randy was probably out at the bar. He was probably there with Kenny's dad.

Kenny gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. What kind of family had four cars? Here he was, in his dad's shit, lumbering truck, the truck everyone in his house had to fight over, and there Stan was with his _own_ shit little ride. It might be a three coloured eyesore, it might be dented and rusting, it might be marked with Stan's favourite sex scratches (that Kenny could actually _see _from across the road) but it was still _Stan's_. It was his little scrapheap of freedom, his ticket to anywhere, his private sanctuary.

It was where he'd taken Kyle's virginity.

Kenny gripped the wheel so hard he was sure it was going to crack. He remembered that story, he remembered Kyle telling him about it during one of Stan's tediously dull football games. The first game after they'd been outed. A few kids brought obscene banners, a few shouted and chanted obscene things. Cartman hired a bunch of Mexicans to make an obscene half time float, but Stan and Kyle resolutely refused to react. Which had been harder for Kyle then Stan, but hey.

Kenny had asked him, Kyle hadn't just decided to chat about it. Kenny had asked him and Kyle had told him, very seriously, very humourlessly, he told him about that sacred night he and Stan drove down to Denver for a Raging Pussies reunion concert. It had been a hell of a night, and high on adrenaline and endorphins, Stan had jerked off the highway, and all this pent up frustration and all these feelings had exploded, and they were furiously, angrily clutching at each other, and Kyle had mounted across Stan, and they had christened the drivers seat.

And it had terrified them. Kenny had remembered how they'd acted at that time. He'd not known _why_ they were acting like that, but he could remember how bad it got. He remembered how Kyle's mood spun on a dime, he could go from ecstatically happy to weeping over a cheeseburger in the space of five minutes. Stan regressed back to being uber-uber-pussy Raven, and took to writing depressing poetry and downing litres of tepid coffee. Yet they still clung to each other, closer then ever, as though terrified that if they didn't continue to invade each others personal space every minute of the day and night they'd be torn apart. Cartman had just loved seeing them in such turmoil, of course, even though he had no idea why. He just assumed it was because of his latest plot.

At the time Kenny had thought they were just PMSing, or suffering from an influx of hormones, or they'd had a really bad fight and scared themselves or whatever. They had been resolutely tight lipped, and he'd not wanted to pry.

Then three weeks later they'd apparently shagged again, realised neither the world nor their friendship had to end because of their awfully confusing feelings, and everything went back to normal. Well, not really normal. They went back to acting normal, it seemed exactly the same, but they'd started fucking. It took them time to completely come to terms with what they were doing and the implications of it, but once they realised they'd still have each other, they just didn't care. Everything was normal. Well, everything was different, it's just that difference seemed normal.

Kenny felt this memory stir something unsettling deep within him. He hated thinking of Stan and Kyle's relationship. There was so much _stuff _that looped around it, so much emotional wool and lint and fluff that filled all the spaces between shags and gropes. Sure, Kyle would drop the occasional lewd joke or make the occasional passive aggressive reference, and sure, Stan would tell the occasional vomit-inducing sexcapade tale, but they never really talked about what happened in between. Those times when they weren't fucking, when they made big decisions like going from being two friends who fucked to being two guys in a relationship who intended to dedicate their lives to each other. They never told anyone, well, they never told Kenny about the _real _stuff they did, the proper, personal, relationship stuff.

Making up his mind with a sudden snap, Kenny kicked open the drivers side door and stalked trough the snow. It wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough to soak his trouser legs and cling to his hems, it was deep enough to be a nuisance.

Then he was hammering on the Marsh's front door, stamping his feet to keep warm.

To describe Stan's sister as scary would be like describing the ocean as damp. She wasn't scary, with her perfectly straight, sharp white teeth, her blocky, unbelievably strong build, her bleached, fried hair and wild, manic eyes. No, she wasn't scary; she was absolutely terrifying.

"Hello Shelly! You're looking b-e-a-utiful today!" Kenny sang with a _very earnest_ smile and slightly wild eyes.

She just glared at him with pure unadulterated hatred. For a second Kenny thought he was going to die, but all she did was stand to one side, and point him up the stairs. He shot her one last winning smile, before sauntering away, making sure not to turn his back on the she-beast.

Reaching Stan's ugly, sticker covered door, Kenny sighed, rubbing his face and looking appropriately dejected as he clicked it open. "Hey Stan, I really need to tal…"

For a second, it felt like the space time continuum had collapsed. There Kenny was, standing in the doorway, his hand still on his face. There Stan was, naked on his bed, Kyle's creamy white calves draped across his shoulders, Kyle's soft hips in his hands. There Kyle was, gripping Stan's strong neck, using Stan's headboard for leverage. Just about to climax. There they were, doing it, on Stan's lovely double bed. There Kenny was, standing in the doorway, just, you know, _watching them_!

Yeah, for a second Kenny thought the world had right ended then and there.

Then Stan was screaming at him to get the fuck out, and Kyle was cursing, trying to hide himself with Stan's sheet. It took Kenny a second to realise the world was still spinning, but once he did, he was gone. He stumbled out the doorway, tripped over in the corridor, and all but threw himself down the stairs.

He looked up to see Shelly leaning against the wall, snickering in a way that bore an uncanny resemblance to that dog in Wacky Races. All Kenny could do was hate her, he hated her more then he'd ever hated a woman, more then he hated Cartman. He hated her so much, he nearly hated her more then he hated Stan.

He'd already wrenched the front door open when he heard Stan calling him, telling him to stop. And so he did. He had no idea why he did, he just did. With one hand still holding the door open, he looked back up the stairs, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs. Stan was standing there, clutching a bedsheet round his waist with one hand, the perfect emulation of a Grecian statue.

"Kenny I'm sorry! I was just…" he waved his free hand about in a noncommittal gesture. Still, Kenny was aware of what they'd been doing. He'd had a close up visual of it, after all.

"Look, Ken, I'm a little busy…" another hand wave (Kenny assumed this one meant 'pleasuring the man you covet more then the very air you breathe') "so I'm a little busy, yeah? But we can talk late-"

Kenny didn't wait to hear the end, he just darted out the Marsh front door, sprinting across their snow covered front lawn.

Slamming the door to his dad's truck, Kenny sank low in the seat, clutching his chest. His heart was still going too fast, clawing at his ribs, caged and angry. It hurt, Kenny hadn't noticed how much it hurt, but it hurt. It really fucking hurt. Seeing Kyle like that, _his little Kyle_ pinned by that fucking _pussy_. It hurt like a bitch, like a fucking bitch, and it wasn't fucking fair!

He knew they did it, he _knew_ they did! He'd just never expected to _see _it, never expected it to become so fucking goddamn _real_.

Angry, he punched the dashboard, causing something to crack. He dimly hoped it was the plastic, but it felt like his knuckles. He didn't care that much anyway.

No, it wasn't fair. It really, really was not fair. It was so unfair he wanted to scream, to scream and shout and kick and bite, to hit someone, to _kill_ someone, to kill _Stan_. And all Kenny could do about it was put the truck in gear, and drive on home.

Because life doesn't play fair.

* * *

A/N – Me and this story have a deep, deep love hate thing going on. About a few chapters back I deviated from the plot slightly, and now I can't get it back on track. I seem to be writing some sort of quick-shot soap-opera pulp-fiction thing at this present moment, which isn't how I usually write at all, so hey. So I'm really, really sorry the quality's a bit sketchy, I know my writing's gone a bit repeaty and bit jarring in places (and Kenny's gone a massive bit OOC), but I can't seem to fix it, and I don't want to scrap it and start again, so it'll just have to romp on for a bit. I'm actually a little determined to finish this as it is for some reason, I'm just so sorry if it gets a bit, well, bad. Still, thank you so much for reading, and thank you so so so much for reviewing, it means a whole massive bunch to me and makes me feel all cotton candy warm and fluffy, so thank you this whole massive much 3.

Still, we're on the western side of halfway through at this point (I think, unless I choose to elongate or deviate again), and so it shouldn't be too long before it all comes together and the poor excuse for a plot plays out.

P.S. When I'm done, I'm toto going to one-shot Stan and Kyle's little car christening episode.


	7. Playing Cat's Cradle

Kenny was gone for a week. No, technically he was gone for eight days. He didn't leave a note, he didn't call anyone, he just got in that pickup and left. His dad was furious he'd taken the truck, his mom was furious he was skipping school. His brother didn't even know he'd left, no one had bothered to tell him. His little sister didn't really care at all, she was just happy she could get to sleep at a reasonable hour without being forced to listen to her brother wangst about that dude he was in love with through the crack in her bedroom wall.

Besides it really wasn't uncommon for Kenny to just run off and disappear for long periods of time, he did it _all the time_. Heck, he'd disappeared for _months and months _when they were eight, only to saunter back in one Christmas time, so eight days wasn't anything to brag about. Stan and Kyle both tried calling, they both texted him and apologised (Stan really didn't see the point in apologising, he very stubbornly pointed out that Kenny should know better then to trust Shelly, and should have knocked before coming in, but Kyle had given him _that_ look and he'd relented almost immediately), asking where he was and if he was okay, but Kenny didn't answer. Even Cartman sent him a text, but it was only to call him a pathetic, poor, cock sucking moron, so it wasn't really surprising Kenny didn't answer.

By that Thursday, Stan and Kyle were beginning to think he'd died. By Friday they were concocting scenarios in their minds. By Sunday, they'd both agreed on a theory that involved a bear trap, a flagpole, and something coming right for Stan's uncle Jimbo. By Monday, they didn't really care anymore. Stan had a football game he felt under prepared for that night and Kyle had an English test he was fretting about the next morning. Worrying about each other and themselves took priority over worrying about Kenny or anything else.

On Tuesday evening Mrs. Brofloski answered the door to a dirty, bedraggled, wan-faced Kenny. He was looking for Kyle. She told him he was at the Marsh's. Kenny had sworn loudly and kicked her precious potted fir tree over, before venomously hissing obscenities the entire stalk back home. Sheila hadn't been impressed, but she wasn't really surprised. She'd never liked that peculiar McCormick child. Not one little bit.

On Wednesday a very depressed Kenny just stayed in bed, cursing at his mother as she tired to wake him, cursing at his father as he threatened to beat him.

On Thursday a still quite depressed Kenny went back to school. Kyle and Stan had approached him in homeroom and delicately asked if Kenny wanted to talk about it, so Kenny made quite sure they realised he never, _ever_ wanted to talk about it, not ever, and everyone was to pretend nothing had ever happened in the desperate hope that absolute denial would somehow remove the event from history. Kyle had just nodded solemnly, before turning dejectedly around and pulling Stan away.

At lunch, Kenny got to observe Stan and Kyle's new hobby. They were playing cat's cradle. They were straddling their bench, facing each other, playing cat's cradle with a powder pink fucking shoelace. Kenny was just speechless, literally speechless. Cartman was resigned to it, having been forced to watch them play since last Thursday and having run out of insults last Monday.

"This has got to be, without a doubt, the gayest thing I've ever seen." Kenny announced, watching Stan loop his hands round Kyle's in a very, very flowery manner. Cartman just groaned, before ramming half a sandwich into his mouth, choosing not to chew before swallowing.

"Don't lie Kenny, you've seen us do gayer." Stan winked boldly across the table, before carefully slipping the string off his hands and back onto Kyle's.

Kenny forced down the bile that had risen in his throat, desperately fighting the urge he had to grab one or more of Cartman's four knives and drive them hilt deep in Stan's thick neck. "Wow, does that sound like never ever ever ever talking about it again to you Marsh?"

"What the fuck are you two going on about?"

"Nothing fatass." Kyle bit, watching Stan hook two threads with his fingers before performing a very delicate lift, "And fucking swallow before you talk; you're disgusting enough as is you pathetic manatee, you don't need to make any extra effort for us."

"Well Kyle, at least I'll never be as repulsive as you, you clown-haired, big-nosed kike."

"Shut up Cartman, Kyle isn't repulsive. He's absolutely gorgeous. Aren't you, my adorable little darling?" Kenny couldn't help but silently agree with the sentiments, whilst simultaneously wishing death upon their speaker.

"Dear Christ Stan, you are such a fucking faggot, I swear to God, seriously…"

Kyle just beamed across at Stan, pushing his hands through the appropriate gaps in the lace, before leaning up to peck him on the lips.

"What's with the string thing anyway?" Kenny asked, desperate to break up this little moment.

Kyle just shrugged, sitting back down. Rhythmically he pinched two crosses together and pulled his hands through the string. "I like it. The shapes and the knots, it's quite mathematical in its own way, we used to play this at Jew Scouts a lot. The repetition and motion… it's all very therapeutic."

"Why does it have to be pink?"

"It doesn't have to be." Kyle reasoned, watching Stan perform his lift "Wendy was showing me how to do it in history. She let me keep her shoelace."

"What's your excuse for this faggotry then Stan?"

Stan just shrugged, lifting his hands up through the string. "Kyle likes it. Besides, when he straddles the bench like that, I can see the outline of junk through his jeans."

Cartman balked. Kenny eagerly lent across the table to gawp.

"Clyde's parents are out of town at a shoe convention in Delaware this Saturday, he's throwing a house party. Me and Kyle, and unfortunately Cartman, were planning on swinging by. You wanna come Ken?" Stan asked, completely ignoring all the attention Kyle's crotch was receiving.

Kenny pulled his eyes off Kyle's junk and looked back up. "Yeah sure, got nothing better to do I guess. Do I need me to bring beer or anything?"

"It'd probably help if you can grab a few, but it doesn't really matter. I'm sure Craig and those guys can manage it."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm not gonna be drinking. It's Kyle's turn this time. Shelly's agreed to fetch him bottle of JD's or something on her way back from class though."

"I'm surprised your sister agreed to that. I thought she hated you."

Stan froze for a second, his hands looped in the shoelace, fingers pushed up against Kyle's. Kyle just cocked his head at him concerned, wondering why he'd stopped.

"She doesn't hate me Kenny… She's just a bit of a bitch with a cruel sense of humour and a temper worse then Kyle." Kyle kicked Stan in the knee, as if to prove his point "She's still my big sister though, she my family. She's like, contractually obliged to love me, no matter what."

Kenny just snorted. Never in his life had any member of his family felt obliged to show him any kind of affection. Across the table from him, Kyle nudged Stan's hands, prompting him to continue.

Kenny sighed, resting his head in his hands, watching them play. It was quite therapeutic, the gentile, repetitive exchanges. Kenny knew Kyle must be loving it, he liked things that flowed like this, gentle, soft and pretty. He liked things like himself. Stan was probably bored out of his mind with it by now, but Kenny knew didn't care. He'd continue playing up until Kyle called it quits, just to make sure Kyle was happy. That's just what Stan did. Well, that's just what Stan did for _Kyle_.

"Awh, dude, I hate this one, swap me?"

Kyle just nodded, leaning in as he slipped his hands over Stan's and looped the string over his fingers. Whilst watching them Kenny realised this was the type of woolly gay stuff they must do in-between fucking. It was intimate, in its own way, how close they were sitting and the way their hands touched, the way they pressed their knees together, the exclusion of everyone else in the entire world. They could have long conversations doing this, it was an excuse to gaze at each other and make contact with each other and not leave each other. Kenny realised he'd be very, very happy to just play this game with Kyle for hours on end. Not that that would ever happen, mind you. For one Kenny would have to get some alone time with him, and he wasn't due any more of that for a good few months. For another, it just seemed way too intimate for Kyle to want to do it with anyone other then Stan.

It _was_ too intimate. It was just intimate in a wholly innocent way.

Kenny suddenly felt very very sick, and excused himself to get some air.

* * *

A/N (I think I'm getting addicted to these, wups, they're not important really, so don't worry you don't have to read on any further) - Sorry this chapters a bit short and fluffy, but by splitting it before the next bit began, I won't have to split a important bit (plotstufffcomingnextchapterya) and I can bridge it far smoother on two counts and yay!

And allusions at the start, not quite sure how that come off, but eh. Still thank you for reading my Darlings, and thank you thank you thank you so much for reviewing my Lovelinesses, means the whole wide world to me! 3

And for the lovely, lovely Zewy who writes me such lovely, lovely reviews, I hopes this will quell your curiosity nice and warmly - The sort of bit where I deviated from the old plot was where Kyle indivertibly gave Kenny the advice to start fighting. Originally the only part Cartman had in the story was to spur Kenny to fight, but I decided to give him a bigger part then just the one line of "Just stop being a pussy and fucking fight, po'boy" so it had to be Kyle instead because that was the next hand to play.

But then the whole "love right angle" speech was originally Kyle's, but in the great reshuffle I decided to bring in Wendy in for that, because Kyle can't have them all.

Then the plot kind of changed a bit and it all began to get a little loose, so I added in Stan's car stuff and other bits like thisentirechapter and hey, it came out like this! Yup yup! Thank you for all your reviews, it's really so very very nice of you! Loves loves 3


	8. Composted Diplomas and Money

After one fateful New Year's night, a night that involved some fireworks, Stark's pond, an axe, a sledge, a pine tree, the police, and several delusions that what they were doing was most definitely a really awesome idea, Stan and Kyle had made a pact. They agreed that at every party they attended together, one of them would remain completely sober (or sober enough to drive, anyway). This way if there was trouble, or a bust, or they needed to lie to their parents or the police, one of them would always be quick enough to take the lead. It also meant one of them would always be clear headed enough to watch out for them both, just in case anything went wrong, just in case they needed it.

Tonight was Kyle's turn to get hammered, and Kenny couldn't be happier. Kyle could be adorable when he was pissed; he got all loose and very, very illucid. He said some fanstastic things when he couldn't control himself. Honest things, bizarre things, flat out hilarious things. It's just a shame Stan would probably be acting like he was tied to his side with pink fucking shoelaces. He never left Kyle's side at parties unless he had to. Kenny always found it so hard to enjoy his time with Kyle when Stan was breathing down their necks. He just wished he could have five minutes drunk and alone with Kyle. Fantastic things could be done and said in those five minutes.

Kenny had been a bit put out when Stan hadn't offered him a lift. He knew he would be driving, Kyle generally got a bit princessy when it came to walking about late at night. He said he thought it was too dangerous, especially in South Park. Kenny thought his neurosis was darling. Stan just thought he was too lazy to walk.

Still, the upside of it was Stan would defiantly be driving his tri-coloured junkyard to Clyde's house, and he hadn't offered Kenny a lift. Well, Kenny's dad had the truck, and even if he didn't, Kenny wanted to drink, so this meant he'd had to walk.

Swearing slightly, Kenny crossed his arms over his chest for warmth, fighting his way through the blanket of snow that perpetually smothered South Park. Angrily, he kicked hunks of ice and slurry out of his path, cursing Stan as he did. Chances were he just wanted to have a quick romp with Kyle before they arrived, and instead of doing that, you know, at home on Stan's nice, big, double sex-bed before they left, they just had to do it in the car.

Well, it was either that or the fact that not offering Kenny a lift meant not needing to offer Kenny a lift back. And not needing to offer Kenny a lift back meant Stan could go from the party to humping Kyle at breakneck speed. Whatever the reason, Kenny was sure it boiled down to humping.

He had briefly considered asking Cartman for a lift, but he wasn't that desperate. Chances were he'd be getting his mother to drive him to, and pick him up from, Clyde's "sleepover". Even if he was driving himself, Kenny'd still rather walk. Cartman was fiercely protective of his big shiny Chevvy, and the last time he'd driven Kenny anywhere, he'd covered the entire seat in plastic and made Kenny promise on pain of death not to touch anything, only then would he let him get in. This was more then can be said for Kyle, who Cartman wouldn't even let touch the car. Stan had acted indignantly on Kyle's behalf (Kyle didn't have a car either, his mom was too worried and didn't want him driving until he was older. This was the cause of one of Kyle's favourite pet rants) and banned Cartman from his car. Now the only two who ever drove anywhere together with regularity were Stan and Kyle, which at least gave them some alone time. Because they oh so needed more of that.

Trudging up to Clyde's brightly lit, booming house, Kenny saw Stan's car parked up on the other side of the road. Casually he strolled across to it, located the dint he gave it a few weeks ago, and gave it another quick boot. Perhaps, he thought dully, if he did this whenever he felt frustrated, Stan would eventually have to replace that panel. That would show him.

By the time Kenny arrived, the party was in full swing. The house was packed with people, mostly upperclassmen, but a few of the younger ones had found their way in there too. That young goth kid was latched to Henrietta's side. A few of the girls were flirting heavily with Bridon Gueermo and his friends, but Kenny didn't stop to watch.

He tried asking a few people where Kyle was, but those who said they'd seen him had no idea where he'd gone. He's probably off with Stan somewhere, was the general consensus. Token suggested he check for them upstairs, but having developed somewhat of a complex when it came to Stan, Kyle and bedrooms, he decided he'd rather not.

Sighing, he helped himself to a cup of beer, and decided to root out some company.

He talked to Powder a little bit, but she was too drunk to really hold a decent conversation and had begun to muddle her sentences. Butter's was sober, completely and absolutely, but after a few minutes conversation with him (a conversation that mostly revolved around Butters fear of getting grounded after Cartman had forced him to drive tonight) Kenny made an excuse and left.

Dejectedly, he decided to mope on the living room couch and hope Kyle staggered by, preferably, sans Stan.

"Hello Kenny. You look sad."

A dainty little figure slipped onto the couch next to him, all blush and prima violets and fabric softener.

Kenny forced his shut his eyes and rubbed his face. He really didn't want this right now. "Hello Wendy. I'm fine."

"I'm sorry I got a bit short last time we talked. Still, I hope you thought about what I said."

"I really don't see how this is any of your business Wendy. I don't want to talk about it, especially not with you."

"Fair enough. I'm just glad you haven't done anything stupid. I don't want anybody getting hurt."

Kenny just sighed, opening his eyes and looking at her. She was sitting daintily with one long leg hooked over the other, a pair of big, knitted socks pulled up to her knees, a little back skirt hanging down her thighs. She was stunning, Wendy Testaburger, but she was never cheap. She always looked high class, polished, perfect, like she'd been grown in a pot of composted diplomas and money. Stan had liked her, he still liked her, but just not as much as he liked Kyle. He never had liked her as much as he liked Kyle. He didn't like girls as much as he liked Kyle, girls made him come over all weird and nauseous. Stan had just been born to ram it into guys, Kenny realised. Born to ram it into Kyle.

"Why did Cartman tell you about me anyway?"

Wendy blinked at him, lifting her cup to her face as she thought. "He tells me about a lot of things really, I guess he just likes to hear himself talk. I sit next to him in business class, we have to work together a lot."

"I'm so sorry." Kenny said gravely, patting her knee in an overly melodramatic, comforting way.

"It's not all that bad. The one thing you have to give Cartman is that he has a head for business. He can be clever when he wants to be. And ruthless when he wants to be too."

"It sucks you got paired with him though. It always sucks to get paired with him."

"I didn't, originally I got paired with Token. He got paired with Kyle."

Kenny blinked. "Why the hell would you swap?"

"Stan asked me to. Besides, it was a bit awkward having to work with Token. Our final break-up was a bit rough."

"Rougher then working with Cartman?"

Wendy shrugged her shoulders neatly, her hair shimmering down her back. "They were both pretty grim options. Besides, this way he's far, far less disruptive during class. Cartman may hate everyone, but he really goes for Kyle. Besides, he knows I won't think twice about kicking his ass."

Kenny just smiled at her, reliving that brilliant fight. Wendy just cleared her throat, looking away from him, pressing the rim of her cup against her lower lip.

"Kenny, you did think about what I said, right? You're not going to do anything stupid?"

Kenny just bit his lip, choosing not to tell her about his brilliant plan or its horrific ending. Truth was he didn't know what he was going to do anymore. He had about a week left before Boston gave Stan their answer, but he'd not got a plan of action. But then, even if Stan did get in, they weren't going for, like, five months. Five months was a heck of a long time.

Realising Wendy was still looking at him, realising he'd not answered her, Kenny cleared his throat and gulped down some beer. She just tutted quietly at him.

"Kenny, don't, okay? For your own good more then anyone else's, just leave them be. It's best that way."

When Kenny resolutely didn't answer her, or even look up at her, she stalked off and left him on the sofa, probably running off to find Bebe or Red.

Kenny was pretty sure the one thing Stan had liked most about her was just how similar she could be to Kyle. They both had tempers, they both were nosey and smart, both were moral and just, both had a habit of getting all wound up and not letting things go. And both had kicked Cartman's ass well and truly. That always gave you brownie points in Kenny's book.

No, that Wendy Testaburger, well, she wasn't all that bad.

"Here, I found this." Kenny glanced up from the cup he'd been moping into for the past hour, only to be greeted by Craig, who thrust a very unstable Kyle onto the sofa cushion next to Kenny's. "Watch him, will you? He's too far gone and Stan's fucked off somewhere with Cartman."

"What the hell's Stan doing with Cartman?"

"Fuck knows. Something retarded, no doubt."

Kenny just nodded, glancing across to Kyle, who was fumbling about to seat himself properly. Craig just watched him with a look of pained disgust. Kyle seemed too drunk to be aware of this, and so just grinned brightly back.

"What the hell's he been drinking?" Kenny asked in wonderment, watching Kyle stretch his arms up, accidentally exposing a slip of pale underbelly before nearly overbalancing off the couch.

"Everything. And a lot of it. He's got depressive."

"That's rich, coming from you Tucker."

"Just wait 'till he starts up again, McCormick."

Kyle hadn't paying attention to the conversation, but noticing Craig was still standing there, he made a lunge off the sofa to hug him. Craig pulled a face of sheer horror, and fought him back down. Quite a feat considering Craig was built out of construction paper and string, and Kyle wasn't the lightest of all the little darlings.

"If I see him, I'll tell Stan to hurry the fuck up and take him fuck home."

Kenny felt his heart rocket. "Don't worry, I don't mind watching him. If you see him, just tell Stan he's safe."

Craig just flipped him off, before disappearing back into the crowd. Kenny just smiled at his retreating back, before Kyle engulfed him in a side hug, mumbling some nonsense Kenny couldn't hear.

"You know Ken-" Kyle was really drunk. He'd slung one arm across Kenny's shoulders and was using the other to keep his balance on the couch. His pupils were blown, his ugly mauve t-shirt was damp to the touch. His poof of hair was wilting at the edges, and a thin sheen of sweat was glistening across his arms. He smelt like Jack Daniels, like Jack Daniels and beer and Kyle. Kenny felt his heart rate increase as Kyle lent in closer then he intended to, putting their faces only inches apart. He was perfect, with his smooth, slightly flushed, creamy skin and his delicate, defined features, those high, regal cheekbones, and those pink little lips. God, Kenny loved those perfect little lips. This was perfect, Kenny thought, having Kyle this close. This was just how it was meant to be.

"You know Ken, sometimes I cry like a bitch because I realise how out of my league Stan is. He's like, this perfect tall muscley God thing who can throw balls about and run and catch them and shit like that and everybody's, like, in love with him, and I'm like, this ugly little Jew who can kind of do fuck to computers. It makes no sense. That scares me."

He was sad, his green eyes bright and wide. He was really trashed, he was really, really trashed. Kenny just smiled warmly at him, lifting a hand to the side of his face so he could stroke his cheek.

"You're so much more special then you realise Kyle." Kenny murmured it to him, speaking so delicately he was pretty sure Kyle couldn't hear him, "You're perfect. And anyone would be a fool not fall in love you."

"Butters spilt coke on me. He was so, like, sorry. I told him it didn't matter, but he offered to pay for my dry-cleaning. I'm like, who the fuck dry-cleans a t-shirt? I told him, like, don't be silly yeah…"

Kenny wasn't really listening to him. Kyle was sort of mumbling and it was hard to hear him over din made by the music and other peoples idle chatter. Still, Kenny was just enjoying having Kyle this close, basking in his smile and his perfection and his beauty. Kyle stopped talking and grinned, tilting his and catching Kenny's eyes.

Kenny felt his heart jar. "Jesus Kyle, you're amazing. I lo-"

"God, it's so fucking hot. What is it, like a hundred degrees in here? I'm sweating like a bitch."

Kenny bit his lip. "It is quite warm, yeah. I think Clyde's got the heating whacked up."

"I should just strip down to my underwear. That's always fun." Kenny shut his eyes, that scintillating mental image running rampart across his senses. He felt the familiar lurch in his stomach and discomfort in his jeans as his cock showed its appreciation for Kyle's thought process. Kyle went to pull off his t-shirt, but Kenny caught his hands, pulling them away from his hem. Kyle was way, way to drunk to make competent decisions about whether he should undress or not. Nevertheless, if he suggested it again, Kenny was sure his willpower wouldn't hold.

"Not such a good idea right now Kyle, but you should defiantly do it later, okay?" Kyle just nodded, looking bizarrely serious. "Dude, it's like only just ten. It's way too early for you to be this gone. You should probably have some water and take it easy for a bit."

"Eh, like it matters. Stan's looking out for me!" Kyle threw his hands up with overly dramatic flair as he said this, smiling brightly at Kenny. Then, after glancing around and realising Stan wasn't looking out for him, he let his hands drop to his lap, and his face fell. "Unless he's found someone better to look out for…"

"You're the best person in this town, Broflovski."

Kyle just made a morose whining noise and let his head drop on Kenny's shoulders. Kenny just slipped his arms round his back, pulling him in to a gentle hug.

Kyle began to say something else, but Kenny wasn't paying attention to him anymore (as hard as that was when Kyle was pushing his face against Kenny's neck). Kenny was too busy looking over Kyle's shoulder. Stan was standing there, Cartman was next to him. Cartman was talking, and they were watching him. The glint of malice in Cartman's eyes didn't bode well. The look of fury on Stan's face boded even worse.

Cartman said something and shrugged in faux innocence, but Stan was already storming over, rudely shoving people out of his way. The sheer power of his presence caused Kenny to shrink back into the couch, weakly pulling Kyle with him.

In seconds Stan had a strong arm round Kyle's waist and was pulling him up and away from Kenny. Kenny tried to cross his legs quick enough, but he didn't manage to hide it in time. Stan's face went from furious, to shocked, to confused, and then back to furious in a matter of seconds. It was really quite an amazing feat.

"Goddamn it to hell, Cartman was right…"

Kenny felt his blood turn to ice. "Listen Stan-"

"No." Stan tightened his grip on Kyle, who just seemed confused that he wasn't sitting down anymore. "Stay the fuck away from us Kenny. Don't you ever come near him again, alright?"

With that Stan began to pull Kyle to the door. Kyle, having just realised Stan was holding him, seemed to be either trying to initiate a hug or coerce Stan into picking him back up.

* * *

A/N - This chapter came out slightly longer then I intended it to, but hey, it's Saturday (actually, no, now it's 12:10am, so it's Sunday here, so yayI'malliveanotherday) but still, it's the start of all the plotness, and the start of the end! Anyway, thank you for reading, and thank you so much for the lovely reviews, they're so kind and lovely and candyfloss and stuff. Loves and loves you 3

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Nunya: Because he kinda is in this arc. _Stocky_ is the go to word I tend to use. It's just the way I chose to characterise him.


	9. A Valiant Effort

Kenny arrived about three hours late to school that Monday. He'd seriously considered not going back, like, ever again; he hadn't heard a thing from Stan, Kyle or Cartman all Sunday so he had no idea what he'd be walking into. He didn't know if Stan and told Kyle or Wendy or the entire student body, or if Stan had kept it to himself. He didn't know how Stan was taking it, if he's realised it was no big deal, or if he'd got even angrier about it. He didn't know if Kyle could actually _remember_ what had happened. It was unlikely, considering how drunk he'd been, but anything was possible. He just didn't know. And he wasn't sure he wanted to know either.

Still, as the morning progressed, he realised that pushing the inevitable back wouldn't really solve anything. The only way he could really avoid having to deal with this was if he dropped out, and as tempting as that was, Kenny had spent thirteen years of his life sitting in a classroom. He at least wanted to get his piece of paper at the end of it.

Besides, it wouldn't be all that bad. Perhaps. He could just go find Stan and explain himself. He could be all "Yeah, hey, I know I'm like, totally head over heals in love with your boyfriend and I know you told me never to come near you or him again which is probably for the best because I would do anything I can to take him from you and I know I occasionally have awesome little fantasies where I stab you in the neck with something and you die, but we're all still cool, right?"

Kenny realised that staying silent and keeping his head down for a while might just be the best way to play this one.

By the time he managed to talk himself into stalking through those painted blue front doors, he'd missed all of his morning classes. Still, at least he'd be early for lunch.

Cartman wasn't sitting at the canteen table when Kenny left his perch on the bathroom and came down. Kenny had no idea where he'd been all day, but then that was probably a good thing. If he'd had any idea where Cartman was, he would have felt compelled to pay him a visit and beat the living shit out of him. Kenny did intend to track him down and pulverise him the second he had a moment, but right now he was content to sit down alone and eating his lunch, ignoring Craig and those guys who were camped out at the other end of the table. Discussing, quite loudly, how awesome Saturday's party had been.

"What have you done to Stan?"

Kenny looked up from his bread and ketchup sandwich as Kyle heavily dropped himself down on the bench opposite him, propping his elbows up on the table and pressing his fingertips together. He looked older when he did this, Kenny thought, older and so very serious.

Still, at least he didn't know. That was a plus. At least he didn't know _yet_.

"I've not done anything to Stan, why?"

"You've done something to upset him. I woke up to find him in a storming mood yesterday, I don't think he slept all night. I had a bitch of a hangover and he was throwing some kind of conniption, it wasn't very pleasant. He demanded I stay ten feet away from you at all times and never speak to you again. Then he freaked out for a bit, had to go to church, came back all sad, got a bit angry again, then initiated some very confusing sex. What the hell happened at that party?"

"How can sex be confusing? It's a pretty simple process. Just stick the dick in the hole and jizz. End of."

Kyle just sighed, rubbing his temple. "We do tend to try and be a little more romantic then that, you know? Foreplay isn't just for anniversaries and birthdays."

"So you kiss a bit then stick the dick in the hole and jizz, it's still not rocket science." For a moment Kyle looked at Kenny like he was actually going to correct him and explain, in vast detail, the realms of foreplay he and Stan partook in. Kenny didn't think his heart could take it, so he cut Kyle off before he could begin. "Look, whatever, just how was it confusing?"

"He kept on alternating between this wild angry lusty mood and this morose gentle passion. It was like he couldn't decide if he wanted to fuck me or make love to me, so tried to do both at the same time."

Kenny felt like he was going to throw up. "That sounds uncomfortable."

"Eh, not really. It was pretty damn intense, just a bit emotionally exhausting."

"What did you say to him anyway?"

"Huh?"

Kenny felt his heart jump to his gullet. "When he told you to stay away from me, what did you say?"

Kyle shrugged. "I asked him why, and he got frustrated and told me he couldn't tell me. I asked him _fucking_ why, and he just got depressive and started chewing on my shoulder, then he got passionate and started caressing my ribs. For a while I thought he was still drunk or high from last night something."

"How'd you know he wasn't?"

"He's never that lucid or emotional when he's pissed. He just gets all depressive and vague. The last time he got really hammered all he did was bury his face in my crotch so he could recite morbid poetry about whaling to my balls. Then he told me he loved me more then the sun in all its "shiny, glowy-bright glory stuff" and cried himself to sleep. It was bizarre."

Kenny had been at that party. He remembered watching those events unfold. It had indeed been very bizarre. "Stan is such a fucking pussy."

"I don't think I hold myself much better when I'm hammered."

"You're adorable when you're drunk."

Kyle just smiled wanly. "So what did you do to piss him off?"

Kenny groaned inwardly. "We had an… an altercation. There was something we didn't quite agree on." Or agreed too much on, Kenny silently adlibbed.

Kyle's brow dipped in concern. "What happened? What didn't you agree on?"

Kenny bit his lip "It was nothing, you know…" Kenny waved his hand about dismissively. "It's just stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

Kenny sighed, staring down at his lunch. He so badly wanted to tell Kyle what kind of stuff, he wanted to tell him it was I love you stuff, you're perfect and amazing and way, _way_ to good for Stan stuff. But he couldn't. Not yet.

"Stupid stuff. Just stuff stuff."

"What kind of stupid stuff stuff? Give me something here."

Kenny forced himself to glare down at his sandwich, venomously refusing to meet Kyle's concerned gaze. His resolve didn't hold out well when met with those shiny green eyes. "It was just stupid stuff stuff. Kyle, leave it, okay?"

"Dude, if my _best friend_ and my _boyfriend_ are having a fight I think I-hey!"

Kenny glanced up sharply, only to be greeted with Stan's murderous glare. Across the table he slipped his arms around Kyle's waist, before gracelessly pulling him to his feet. He managed to make a fair few yards away before Kyle, who was far less amenable when it came to being dragged about sober, managed to pull away. Angrily he whipped round to face Stan, raising a finger and jabbing it pointedly into his chest.

Kyle was probably half a foot shorter then Stan, but his hair made a valiant effort to bridge that gap. Kyle was also notably less muscular then Stan, notably less solid, and notably less toned. Kyle was, however, the son of Sheila Broflovski. And like his mother, once you got him angry, by, you know, tugging him to his feet against his will and carrying him across the cafeteria, Kyle was flat out terrifying.

Stan took an involuntary step back as Kyle chided him with a hiss, lifting his hands up in mock surrender and biting something sarcastic back. They kept their voices low, angry hisses and whispers, but it was obvious they were fighting. But to everyone other then Kenny, it wasn't obvious what they were fighting about. The entire canteen had fallen silent to watch them, several student had backed away so they could invade their privacy from a safe distance.

Kyle was gesturing violently, waving his hands about as he argued with Stan. Stan just argued right back, his hand gestures far less eccentric. Suddenly Stan reached out, caught Kyle's chin, and forced their eyes together. Letting his hand fall away, he dropped both his arms into a pleading gesture, before quite obviously beginning the emotional blackmail. Not knowing quite how to react, Kyle just watched him, exasperatedly running one hand through his hair, accidentally getting his fingers tangled in the mess. Eventually, with a wave of his left hand, he cut Stan off, imploring something back.

They never shouted, they kept their voices low and quiet. In a way, that sort of made it worse. Had there been people shouting and people throwing things, it would have been melodramatic, emotional, like a soap opera. Passions or something. This was more like watching a video of the Columbine massacre. Silent and sketchy, planned and thought out, tragic and horrifying. And fast. Watching them fight like this was something that should never have happened.

Whist he was mid rant, Stan caught both Kyle's hands in his, brought them quickly to his mouth, said four last words, before he dropped them and stormed out. Kyle had no idea what the hell to do, and so decided to do nothing. He just stood awkwardly in the middle of the canteen, looking painfully lost and a little bit terrified.

Kenny wasted no time staggering to his feet and leaping across to Kyle. Kyle just stood there, nonplussed, one hand on his hip, the other pressed against his mouth. He looked shell-shocked, Kenny thought, like the beloved dog he'd had for eighteen years had just snarled up and bitten him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine." Kyle sighed, crossing his arms across his chest, hugging himself, "I sort of rue the day he realised he was strong enough to do that."

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Kenny asked, eyeing Kyle's waist. He doubted he'd be strong enough to lift Kyle like that, he wouldn't have thought Stan could've done it so easily. Still, adrenaline and anger do magic things to the body.

"What? No no, no, not that. He just… I dunno. Look, I dunno." Kyle bit his lip and glanced to the door, "Look, Ken, I gotta…" he pointed after Stan "But I'll catch you later, yeah?"

He whirled round and ran after Stan, no even waiting for an answer.

Kenny caught Wendy's eyes as he turned back. She was looking at him, horrified and disgusted. He realised she must think he'd done that. He made a note to set her straight later on, tell her that this was just another one of Cartman's cruel plays.

It was all pretty awful. None of the upperclassmen had ever seen them do anything like that before. They'd known them fight, they'd seen them squabble and they'd know them fall out. But they'd never seen anything so volatile, never seen them argue so seriously in public. Especially not since they'd been outed. And no one was quite sure what to do next.

Some entitled freshman hissed something obscene about fags a few tables away, so Craig introduced his face to the table. It broke the tension (as well as the kids nose) but Kenny sure as hell didn't feel like laughing.

He wasn't sure he even felt like anything.

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A/N - Sorry about the whole definitely/defiantly mix up thing, I just fail a bit sometimes (alotoftimescough). Still, it's all corrected now (as well as a few other little bits to polish it all up shiny nice) so thank you for alerting me Lovelies! Once again, thank you for reading, and super duper awesomethankyous for reviewing, means sososomuchmuch.

It's nearly over now (le sigh), just a few more chapters left. Oh ho, loves it 3


	10. Incorrect Answers and Pointy Jabbing

Despite his aching want to run away home, Kenny decided to stay in school. That decision had been made due to gym class. They _all_ had gym class together last period. If he stuck it out, he'd be able to see Kyle again. He'd be able to see what happened. See what was happening. See what was going to happen.

The rumour mill had started straight away. Literally, the second he left the lunch hall, mouths had started yapping. Kenny heard the most amazing things. They'd broken up, they were fighting because Stan was still in love with Wendy, they were fighting because Stan hadn't got into Boston, Kyle was leaving him for Craig, they were fighting because Kyle had given Stan the clap. They were fighting because they both had AIDS and were going to die. Cartman, wherever the fuck he was hiding, had probably had a hand in concocting that one.

No, Kenny heard the most amazing things. But not once did he hear the truth. Nothing even close to it. He thought at least one of the mindless drones he called classmates might have had a lucky guess brain fart, but no. He didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted; whether it was because people liked him too much to drag his name into this whole mess, whether people thought the idea of Kenny loving Kyle (or anyone) was just way too farfetched, or if it was because Kenny had simply gone so long unnoticed he was now classified as invisible.

Throughout his remaining classes, people would poke him in the back and sides and neck with pens and pencils and the pointy part of a compass, asking him what had gone on. Asking him what he knew. Kenny just told them he had no idea what was up, he had no idea if they'd broken up, he had no idea if Kyle had the clap (but he really, highly doubted it), and he had no idea if they were going to die. When they asked him if he knew why they'd been fighting, Kenny just lied and said no. It was way, _way_ easier that way.

Whatever lessons Kenny had attended (he thought it had been Spanish or French and history, or perhaps English, but it could have been anything for all the attention he paid) had seemed to drag on in a blur of incorrect answeres and pointy jabbing. Then, before he knew it the bell had been ringing and he was ramming his stuff (well, his solitary biro and notebook) back into his dirty, torn backpack, before he bounded out the door.

He'd been one of the first in his class to reach the locker-room, sauntering in and dropping his bag on a bench in the corner. Silently he'd watched the rest of the guys trickle in, chatting, shouting, joking, taking up their spots and beginning to change.

_They'd_ arrived together, walking into the locker-room silently. All movement, chatter, all signs of life just stopped as people gawked at them. Together they walked up to Stan's locker (only students who were members in one of the schools sports teams actually _got_ a locker in the locker-room, and because Stan was like, a demigod in the eyes of the coaching staff, he'd been given a double, and so he shared it with Kyle), before silently, tensely, Stan clicked in his combination and passed Kyle his bag. Silently, tensely, Kyle took it, put it on a bench, before glaring up at the room, wordlessly hissing '_Yes, I am about to start undressing now, and I would really, really appreciate it if I didn't have to do that in front of a fucking audience_'. Slowly, very slowly, their classmates began to turn away from them, continuing with their previous conversations in muted, hushed voices.

Kenny approached Kyle whilst Stan had his back turned. By the time Stan turned around, noticed him, glared bloody mass murder at him, it was too late. Kyle was already smiling politely (or trying to, anyway, the best he seemed able to manage was a vaguely friendly grimace) and asking Kenny what was up.

Nervously, tentatively, Kenny had asked him if he was okay, if _they_ were okay. Kyle had continued grimacing his approximation of a smile and politely lied to Kenny, reassuring him very unbelievably that he was fine, Stan was fine, they were _fine_. That everything was _just_ _fine_. Kenny had been about to question him and ask if he was okay being just fine, but once glance up at Stan told him that would be a very bad idea. With his teeth gritted and his fists balled, Kenny realised Stan was about ten seconds away from grabbing a baseball bat and crying "He's coming right for us!" The subsequent beating and excruciatingly painful death Kenny was sure to receive was one he was quite keen on avoiding. Meekly he'd nodded, mirrored Kyle's attempted smile-grimace, and backed away sharpish, moving as far back as the room would let him.

From his secluded, protected corner, Kenny stole the occasional glance, discreetly flicking his eyes up to check up on them, occasionally, dangerously, he'd let his eyes linger for a second on Kyle, drinking in his smooth chest and pale, soft limbs, memorising the curve of his sides and the delicate shape of his back. How scintillating he looked in just his underwear, that fluff of hair clashing against his pale, unsunned skin. Sheer fear and ironclad self control stopped him getting too exited, but he stored the mental images away, carefully locking them in a special aria of his brain, keeping them safe for use later that night. Just like he always did. Every, single, gym class.

Kyle and Stan had changed back to back. But that wasn't anything new, they always did. They always had done, ever since middle school. Everyone around them was oddly quiet, as though they'd all witnessed some tragic death and felt compelled to show the grievers some sympathy.

The entire time, Kyle only said five words to Stan. Fully changed, he turned to him and said something. Stan looked up from his shoes, a serious expression on his face, and nodded. Kyle had nodded back, never smiling once, and they had left the locker-room.

They were supposed to be doing sit ups and push ups, they were supposed to be timing each other and counting for each other. Kenny had paired up with Butters. Cartman had cut class. Again. Stan and Kyle paired up, like they always did, but they weren't crunching or pushing-up. They weren't laughing and joking like they usually did. They weren't messing about or having fun either.

They were just sitting on their mat, cross legged, facing each other. Their knees were pressed together, heck, they were sat so close the whole front of their lower legs were pushed together. If they'd sat any closer, their legs would have had to have been fucking entwined with each others.

They were just playing cat's cradle again. Slowly, methodically, still using Wendy's shoelace, they were playing cat's cradle.

It was such a weird atmosphere; it didn't feel right, not really, not at all. They just sat there, not saying a word to each other, their faces way to serious as they looped their hands in the shoelace. The coach was torn; the part of him that hated Kyle (who had at one point in his schooling career declared, rather loudly and in front of everybody, that P.E the most pointless subject man could ever concoct) wanted to make him do his fucking sit-up and push-ups. The part of him that loved Stan, for all those touchdowns and perfect bowls, and all those patches on his Letterman jacket, didn't want to get in the way of whatever weird little moment they were having.

The part of him that adored Stan in all his sportsmanly glory won out, and he just left them too it. Everyone just left them to it.

As Kenny crunched up for the tenth time (Butters was holding his feet and counting him off in stuttery, quiet breaths) he couldn't help but feel a small bubble of glee pop in his stomach. Yeah, okay, so they hadn't broken up. Yeah, okay, so Kyle claimed they were fine. But they weren't fine. At most, they were _fine_. Something wasn't right with Stan and Kyle, Kenny'd managed to shake them. Inadvertently, granted, with the unwanted help of Cartman, _granted_, but weakened foundations were weakened foundations. Perhaps this was the in he needed. Perhaps this was his in.

Perhaps Kenny had just been dealt a royal flush.

* * *

A/N – Sorry sorry this chapters kind of short and a bit no plotty, but it's a bridge to a big plotty one (that was going to be two separate chapters but works better as one and it doesn'treallymatteryupyupyup). It's another one of those "break here, better next time" scenarios.

Also, sorry for any errors. I had to read a whole wide book before a two hour seminar and I'm a bit too knackered to catch them all. I know they're there, I can _feel _them, creeping about, irritating my wonderfully grammar conscious readers. I just can't seem to see them behind the pillow my face is buried into. Eheheh, thank you thank you for reading, extra extra love and thanks and kittens and cookies (or kitten shaped cookies and cookie coloured kittens, for the best of both worlds) to yous who reviewed. You makes me feel like a zillion billion dollars 3 Loves loves.


	11. The Dimness of That Porch Light

At eight o'clock that night, whilst lying in bed digesting his toaster waffle dinner, Kenny concocted a new plan. He realised Kyle must not know. If Kyle knew, he'd have said something. He really, really would have said something, anything, everything. It was a guaranteed certainty he'd have mentioned it. For some reason, Stan wasn't telling Kyle, he was keeping this from him. This worked massively in Kenny's favour.

This dirty little secret had knocked something wrong with Stan and Kyle, knocked something, disjointed their relationship. Everything was skewed and off centre. This was his chance, he realised. Although they might not have officially broken up, although Kyle claimed they were _fine_, Stan and Kyle's relationship was weak. Stan was keeping something from Kyle, and Kyle knew it. Kyle didn't like being kept out of things. This was Kenny's chance to worm his way in, sew the seeds of discontent, weaken the wood, split the bow in two. If he could get to Kyle, talk with Kyle, casually suggest that maybe, maybe being with someone you've known your whole life, who you've been pretty much in love with since you were nine, wasn't such a good idea to Kyle, maybe he could be the straw that'd break their camels back. Then, when Kyle was sad and single, Kenny could be there. Kenny could always be there. Because Kyle didn't know. Kyle didn't know why Kenny would be there.

Stan and Kyle been fucking-come-dating, for, what, two years? Perhaps their relationship had just run its natural course. Two years is a heck of a long time, especially when you're only just eighteen.

Kenny knew Kyle was alone. For the first time in years, literally _years_, Kyle had taken the bus back home. After gym he'd told Stan he needed some space (Kenny had been discreetly spying on them/checking Kyle out in the locker room) and declared he was going to catch the bus back. Stan had told him he was being stupid, but Kyle had just smiled wanly and told Stan he'd be fine. They'd walked to the front of the school together, shared one of the most awkward goodbye slight cheek kisses Kenny would ever live to see, and Kyle had walked off.

For the first time ever, Kenny cursed his father for letting him drive the truck to school. It was a rare privilege for Kenny, not having to catch the bus, it was just unfortunate this privilege now denied him the even shiner privilege of getting to ride with Kyle. Kenny had tried to wheedle up to Kyle to offer him a lift, but Stan had been lurking round him like some sort of creepy jock-like crow, so Kenny had missed his chance. For a second he thought about catching the bus anyway, just abandoning the truck and driving it back tomorrow. The beatdown his dad, and Stan, would undoubtedly give him if he did this dissuaded him from the idea. It had been one heck of a close call though.

So Kyle had caught the bus alone, and Stan had driven his crappy scrapheap home alone. So they were both alone. For the first time in forever.

Kenny stood up, pulling on his shoes. He was going to see Kyle, his sad little Kyle, to offer him some "comfort" and "friendly advice". He was going to stick his ore in, going to suggest that perhaps, perhaps he should cut it off with Stan. That Stan shouldn't go to Boston. That Kenny should be allowed to catch a break. That Kenny should get the guy. A grin crept across Kenny's face. This was all too good to be true. Life was finally, finally levelling the playing field.

Just as Kenny was zipping up his coat, someone knocked on the front door. Freezing with his fingers pressed against his chest, he listened. His dad had the T.V on, blaring out NASCAR, his sister was bouncing a ball against her bedroom wall. His mother was receiving a very polite greeting from Wendy Testaburger.

As he slipped himself out his bedroom window, Kenny thanked God he lived in the shack of a bungalow his dad once built, he thanked God it got dark at six round these parts, he thanked God he was small and sneaky, he thanked God for all manner of things he'd never thanked God before for, for all manner of unfortunate things that had helped him make his escape.

Kenny couldn't help but feel a little angry. Wendy was probably coming to see him to tell him off, yell at him for upsetting her precious pussy of an ex or whatever. He was irritated she immediately assumed it was him, rather then assuming it was Cartman. Cartman was the obvious culprit when shit like this happened, but she ignored that for some reason. Unless she'd come to him to ask what happened, Kenny reasoned, feeling a little guilty he'd jumped to conclusions. She could have just wanted to talk about it or whatever. Either way, Wendy'd have to wait. Right now the iron was hot, and Kenny was striking.

The walk to Kyle's wasn't really that far. All Kenny had to do was cross to the right side of the tracks and walk straight up the world's longest residential street. Still, the darkness proved unwelcoming and frigid, the slightly too deep for April snow was weighing his shoes down, and the dampness creeping up his jeans wetted his ice-cold calves. All these factors and more clumped together, making the walk very unpleasant.

It was the thought of getting some alone time with Kyle that kept him powering on at breakneck speed, nearly running on the ice, grinning like a manic on acid. He'd get to comfort Kyle, hug him, cuddle him, maybe even kiss him. In fifteen minutes flat he was outside the Broflovski residence.

He contemplated knocking on the door, but after his little potted fir tree fiasco (which Mrs. Broflovski had put back on the front stoop, re-potted in a shiny, new blue pot), he realised facing Mrs. Broflovski wasn't such a great idea. Instead Kenny snuck round the side of the house, located Kyle's window, before bending down and crushing a fistful of snow into a pretty little ice-pebble. Standing back, he lined up his shot, and was just about to take it when he felt a strong force jerk him backwards, pulling him off balance.

Kenny fought like a bobcat, but considering how much bigger and stronger Stan was compared to him, Kenny's efforts proved to be futile. In a matter of moments Stan and pushed Kenny back against Kyle's neighbour's garage wall, and was looming over him, glaring at him with a look that shanked of sheer hatred.

"I told you never to come near him again, Kenny."

"Why the fuck are you staking him out like some creepy-ass stalker, you pathetic freak?"

"I want to talk to him. I'm waiting to talk to my _boyfriend_."

"So more talky, less stalky."

Stan bit the inside of his cheek, glaring at Kenny. "He's a little upset right now, he's upset I won't tell about him _your_ pathetic little crush. He says I'm keeping secrets from him. I guess I am." For a second Stan flashed sad, but he fought to scrawl the anger back across his face.

"So just tell him then, you pussy."

"I'm not that cruel Kenny. This is for the best."

Kenny glowered. "Who the fuck are you to decide what's for the best? You're not king of the fucking world, Stan, no matter how the dicks in this town act."

Stan just narrowed his eyes a degree further, intensifying to look of sheer hatred. "Just leave him alone Kenny. Do yourself a favour and leave all this alone. I've got _both_ your interests at heart."

Kenny made a loud, disapproving grunt. "How does commanding the love of my life not to talk to me again benefit _me_ in any way? How does keeping all this shit _secret _from Kyle benefit _him_ in any way? The only one you're looking out for is yourself, Stan. You're being a selfish little douche."

Stan narrowed his eyes even further, before sighing and shutting them completely. Lifting a hand to his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm trying to protect you _both_, you dumb shit. Staying away from him, or getting _him_ to stay away from you is the best thing you can do right now."

"Oh really" Kenny ladled the snark on heavy "how is depriving me of the love of my life-"

"Stop fucking calling him that!" Stan snapped.

"Why should I?"

"Because he isn't the love of your life, he's the love of _my_ life! That's why you need to stay the fuck away from him!"

Kenny laughed bitterly. "Frightened I'm going to steal him away from you, pussy boy?"

Stan just grabbed him by the neck of his t-shirt, lifted him a good foot off the floor, before slamming him against the bricks. For the first time in his life, Kenny was actually frightened of him. He'd always known Stan was stronger then him, bigger, broader, taller, but he'd also always known Stan was tempered and controlled, level headed and kind.

Not today, however. His usually clear blue eyes were twisted with the same wildness that marred Shelly, and Kenny became very aware Stan _could actually_ kill him if he wanted to.

Then Stan smiled. An awful, awful, dangerous smile.

"You do realise that in five months he'll leave this town? He'll leave this town, and _we'll_ move across America. _We'll_ be time zones away from you, states away from you, a fucking _country _away. He'll leave, you'll wave him goodbye, and he'll leave. And you'll never, _ever_ see him again. That's it. Gone. Gone forever. Game over."

"You've not got into Boston yet Stanny boy, I've got a few days yet to win him over. Let's see who'll be going to Boston when I'm the one he's straddling."

Stan pushed his fist harder against Kenny's throat, still smiling that awful smile. "Even if you _did_, not that you could, it will _never, ever_ fucking happen, I'd still follow him to Boston. I'd still stick by him. I'll _always_ stick by him. Forever."

"I guess it's a good thing five months is an awful long time then." Kenny fought choke that out, his hands scrabbling desperately against his throat, frantic to free himself.

Stan just gave him a look, a look that managed to convey both pity and hatred, sorrow and anger. It was a look that made Kenny feel like a kid again, dirt poor, pathetic, and only three feet tall.

"There's nothing you can do in five months that I can't undo in three years Kenny. Just stay away from him, for your own sake."

Despite having Stan's fist pushed against his trachea, despite being suspended a foot off the floor, despite knowing he was being stupid, Kenny decided to push his luck.

"One day it's me he'll be fucking. I can promise you that, Stan."

For a moment Stan just looked at him, but not with anger or hatred. It was with an emotion Kenny couldn't depict. An emotion blurred by its obscurity and the dimness of that porch light.

"Just stay the fuck away from him Ken." His voice was deadpan, his eyes blank, "Just stay the fuck away."

With that, he let go of Kenny's shirt, turning tail and striding away.

As he fell to the floor, ice digging into his palms, Kenny realised just how fixated Stan actually was when it came to Kyle. He realised that Stan would do anything, _anything_, to keep happy and safe, healthy, and, most importantly, right by his side. No matter what.

He realised the full extent of what he was up against. And he'd never been more daunted in his life.

* * *

A/N - On one had, you have Kenny, who pervs at you when you're changing. On the other, you have Stan, who stakes out your house. Who will Kyle pick? The creeper or the stalker? It's anyones game! ()

Ah well, more ploxstuff, more Kenny getting coxbloxed, more thank yous for reading this =) More more more thank yous for my lovely, lovely reviews. They make me feel so lovely. Everytime I get an alert it makes me feel like rainbow glitter and, er, wowstuff. Thank you Sweethearts!

Also, happy International Women's Day! Yay for having internal reproductive organs! Yay for equality! Boo for inequality! Yay for love for all!

Yay!


	12. Terrifying Nervous Breakdown

For a minute Kenny just crouched on the floor, pushing his back against the roughly painted brick wall, fighting to catch his breath. He considered going after Kyle again, but with Stan camped outside the Broflovski's household, part-way through some sort of terrifying nervous breakdown, Kenny realised how stupid squaring off against him would be.

Gritting his teeth, Kenny gripped the snow beneath his hands, crushing it into icy pebbles. Bitterly he wondered why nothing in life could ever go his way for once, why he always had to be the pathetic underdog, why he could never catch a break. He wanted to hit something, hit someone. Stan was only a few yards away, but hitting Stan was a bad idea. Stan could pulverise him, pound him into lumpy orange mulch. Kenny needed to punch someone who wouldn't fight back, someone who was even weaker then he was, someone pathetic and worthless.

Grinning wildly Kenny staggered to his feet. It was time to pay Cartman a long overdue visit.

In no time at all he was pounding on Cartman's ugly front door, hissing obscenities into the wood. Liane answered it, smiling good naturedly, greeting him kindly, but Kenny didn't care. Roughly he barged passed her, stomping his way into Cartman's front room.

Cartman was sitting on the living room sofa, clutching a consol controller in one hand, ramming cheesy poofs into his mouth with the other.

"Why the fuck weren't you in school today?"

"I was. I had to spend the day in the detention room. I wasn't allowed to leave." Cartman kept his eyes glued to the TV, not even glancing up to greet Kenny.

"Why? Just, just fucking why?"

"I hijacked the school paper. Published a few articles alerting the student body to the horrific Jew infestation we're suffering. Might have printed a compromising photo or two. I might have given out some extermination advice. I got punished for doing my civic duty."

"Eric, you are the poorest excuse for a human being I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

"That's not true. You know Kyle. Although, technically Kyle isn't a human being, I suppose. He's more like a rat, you know, those unwanted vermin who keep getting into my garbage. Although in Stan's case Kyle's more like an infected old dog, silently begging to be put out of its misery. Only Stan's too much of a pussy to take him out back and shoot him in the face or whatever."

Kenny shut his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose. He couldn't hit Cartman when he was sat down, that wouldn't give him enough leverage. If Kenny wanted to really fucking hurt him, he needed Cartman to stand.

"Stand up, Eric."

"Fuck you. I'm just about to level up."

"Stand the fuck up, Eric. I want to hit you."

"For calling Kyle a verminesque dog? I've called him worse and you've never done anything before, po'boy."

"I don't care. Stand up, you fat piece of shit. Stand up so I can hit you."

"Again, fuck you. Besides, my mom's in the kitchen. You wouldn't get very far if you tried." Cartman never once took his eyes off the screen to glance at Kenny, one hand ramming crisps into his mouth, the other furiously tapping away on his controller in a way that heightened Kenny's anger tenfold.

"Your mom's always in the kitchen lard tits, she's always fucking cooking for _you_. Just stand the fuck up."

"Now Kenny, just because my family can afford food, there's no reason to be jealous." Cartman paused the tapping for the briefest of seconds. "Well, there is reason to be jealous, but just don't, yeah? You've got enough sins going against you as is without adding envy into the mix."

Kenny decided that it really wasn't vital for Cartman to be standing, casually walking over and kicking Cartman in the shin as hard as he fucking could. Immediately Cartman dropped his controller, clutched the front of his left leg, and began to shriek for his mother. Kenny felt a little better about the world.

"What is it, snookums?" Liane called from the kitchen.

Kenny raised a threatening fist and glowered at Cartman, who stopped shrieking and began to whimper.

"It's nothing, Ms. Cartman, I just tripped and bumped into Eric. He just got a bit of a surprise, is all."

"Really? Are you both okay?"

"We're fine, thank you Ms Cartman."

"Well alrighty then."

"What the fuck was that for, Kenny?" Cartman hissed, letting go of his leg and retreating his controller.

"You know damn well what that was for fatass."

"What?"

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Telling Stan, you fucking douchebag. I'd have thought you'd be camped out on the Broflovski lawn watching the fireworks from a deckchair." Kenny crossed his arms and squaring his frame. He was tempted to kick Cartman again. "You do so love to bask in schadenfreude."

Cartman pursed his lips, keeping his eyes fixed on the TV. He began to tap away on the controller again. "Yes. Craig told me about Stan and Kyle's little lunchroom dispute. That was unfortunate. I never expected Stan to keep it to himself."

"What do you mean unfortunate? Why the fuck wouldn't Stan keep it to himself?"

"He's got more to loose keeping it to himself. I assumed he'd blurt it out to his pathetic Jew bitch the first chance he got."

"But surely this is going fantastically for you Cartman?"

"No, it's not. Kyle shouldn't be angry at Stan, Kyle should be angry at you."

Kenny felt his blood run cold. "Why the fuck are you trying to screw me over this time, Cartman?"

"Nothing personal Kenny, it just needed to be done. Only Stan's gone all regal and proper and has decided to play the big white knight again."

"How the fuck is telling me to stay away from Kyle playing the big white knight? He's being selfish."

"No, if he was being selfish he'd just tell Kyle."

Kenny ran his hands across his face, kneading his eyes with his palms. "How the fuck did you come to that pathetic conclusion Eric?"

Cartman sighed, clearly getting irritated. "How the fuck are you expecting Kyle to take it Kenny?"

Kenny shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure he'd take it quite graciously. Even if he doesn't…" Kenny swallowed painfully "Even if he doesn't reciprocate, he'd still be lovely about it. That's the kind of person Kyle is."

"You're deluded Kenny. Kyle won't take your pathetic little crush well. Chances are it'd freak him out and confuse him. Kyle has a simple, retarded little mind. He likes things he knows, and things that are the same. When things freak him out or confuse him, he reacts with anger. It's all he's been taught."

Kenny huffed. "I think I know more about Kyle then you do, Eric."

"Just because you know his fucking shoe size or what colour candyfloss he likes best doesn't mean you know him. Seriously, you're too blinded by your shitty infatuation to see his structural flaws."

"If Kyle ate candyfloss, he'd probably comatose himself. And you're just incapable of seeing his virtues beyond your own ignorant attitude, Eric."

"Whatever, Kenny. Stan won't tell him because he's not quite as pathetic as you, just twice the pussy. He can see what Kyle's really like, and chooses not to shoot him. He's trying to protect his shitty little girlfriend from getting his little Jew panties all in a bunch, and he's trying to protect you from getting your worthless little heart broken."

"Then why does he keep telling me to stay away?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Maybe because he thinks you'll be able to get over it if you stay out of the black-magic Jew curse aura Kyle emits, maybe he's being a jealous little bitch who doesn't like the idea that the local ghetto boy's tugging one out over his ugly stumpy beau. Quite frankly, I don't give two shits. All three of you are acting like retards."

For a moment there was silence. Cartman just rammed another handful of cheesy poofs into his mouth, furiously tapping away on his controller. Kenny shifted his weight from one foot to the other, contemplating either kicking Cartman again, or sitting down next to him.

Kenny frowned. "Eric, I still don't get why you told Stan, if not to cause chaos? And you never said why you want them to be pissed at me?"

"I told Stan because I thought he'd tell Kyle, who'd freak out and tell you to fuck off. I wanted you out of the way of their pathetic little fling."

Kenny balked. "Well, firstly, you've actually just managed to give me an in, instead-"

"You'll never have a chance with him, regardless of what I do." Cartman cut across, ramming more poofs into his mouth.

Kenny ignored him "Secondly, more importantly, why the fuck do you care about _them_? You don't care about anyone!"

For the first time all night, Catman paused his game, tilting his head up to look at Kenny.

"I do care about some people."

Kenny snorted. "The only person you care about is yourself, maybe your mom at a push, but only because she feeds you."

"That's not true Kenny, I care about some people."

"Prove it."

Cartman cleared his throat pointedly. "Did you know that throughout her whole entire life, Wendy Testaburger has only ever loved one man?"

Kenny suddenly felt the ground tilt beneath him, he didn't like where this was going, not one bit. There was something very wrong about to be said, something very wrong about to happen. "Oh my God, you threw me under a bus, didn't you Eric?"

"It is prudent for me to keep Stan occupied and away from her. As much as it pains me to see him and Kyle so, so _together_ and _happy_, I can't have anything, _anyone_, threaten his pathetic little fling with that irritating goddamn Jew bitch. Not until she's away from him, safely, safely states away from him."

"You sold me out, didn't you? You sold me out… You sold me out for a girl who can't _stand_ you? For a girl who wouldn't touch you with a ten foot bargepole?"

Cartman's expression darkened. "I stand a fuck of a better chance with her then you do with Kyle, Kenny. Open your fucking eyes and see the goddamn truth."

"You betrayed the only person who can stand to be around you for more then five minutes for some impossible little crush? You betrayed me, me, your _only_ fucking _friend_, just so you could make sure Wendy stayed _single_?"

Cartman just shrugged. "I did what needed to be done. All's fair in love and war Kenny, you were just collateral damage. She means more to me then you."

"You son… You son of a worthless fucking WHORE!"

Lunging down, Kenny palmed one of Liane Cartman's lamps, hurling it across the room. Cartman deflected it easily with one of his mammoth arms, knocking it into the wall and causing it to shatter across the paintwork.

Then Kenny left, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

A/N (and kinda a long one too, wups) - Eh was in two minds about whether to include the Cartman/Wendy subplot or not. It's not a particularly liked pairing, but it concludes a lot of whys and whatfors in this story far better then my other route of "Cartman was being a dick and Wendy was just randomly being noble". Besides, the whole Cartman, Wendy, Stan thing really is a love right-angle. It is an irony, sort of…

But if you really dislike Candy, I'm so sorry. Just, just pretend it never happened and mentally replace it with kittens and mittens and lint. I'm so sorry, Zewy, everyone who was hoping for it, for shattering those Kenny/Cartman dreams. I feel for it, I was so tempted to tweak the story to include it, but alas, it was neater this way. For shame, for shame they can't all be gay.

Whelp, this really is one of the final few chapters (I say that a lot, and then the story just keeps on going for some reason. But this time there really are only two more or so until the end, so hey ho) thank you so much for reading it, for hanging with it, for favouriteing it, for doing all sorts of lovely things that send me warm, fresh baked notifications for it. Thank you most mostly for reviewing it, for writing such lovely things for me to read. I never thought I'd be brushing near 50 reviews, I never thought so many people would read it and actually _like_ it. It blows my little mind every day, so thank you.

(And Jugendfrei, I am toto jelly you get to dream of South Park. I don't get to have dreams anywhere near as cool as that. You're one lucky little puppy.)


	13. Toeing at the Carpet

Kenny had had enough. That was it, this is it, he'd had enough. He didn't care if Stan was still staking Kyle out, he didn't care if he screwed Cartman's pathetic little crush on Wendy, he didn't care that it was nearing midnight, he didn't care that no-one thought it was possible, he didn't care how stupid he was probably being. Kyle was going to know the truth about this, Kyle was going to know the truth about this _now_, and Kenny was going to buck the fuck up and win his man.

Storming through the streets if South Park, Kenny gritted his teeth. He was sick, sick of always being the underdog, sick of never having anything, sick of being poor, pathetic, sick of being left out and abused, sick of being left behind. He was sick of never _ever_ getting anything he wanted, but tonight that was going to change. Tonight he was going to win his man, he was going to beat out Marsh, he was going to change his luck. Tonight Kenny McCormick was going to catch himself a break.

As he pounded towards the Broflovski household, Kenny began to wonder what to do about Stan. From where he was now, he couldn't see him sitting underneath Kyle's window, but then it was so damn dark and foggy Stan could simply be hidden in the shadows. Or crouching in a bush. Hiding in a bush would be something that suitably reflected Stan's paranoid, jealous conniption. For a second Kenny contemplated sneaking round to the other side of the house, playing it safe and using his ghetto skills to carefully slip through a window or something. Kenny's adrenaline discarded that thought almost immediately; he was too pissed off to sneak. If Stan was still there, if he did harass Kenny again, Kenny would simply kick him so hard in the crotch Stan would need to pay a visit to Hell's Pass to get his balls removed from his throat.

Yet as Kenny marched across Kyle's front lawn, his angry, heavy footsteps leaving deep canyons in the snow, no Stan appeared. Pausing for a second, Kenny glanced about, squinting through the dim light emitted by a buzzing porch lantern. No matter how hard he looked, Kenny couldn't seem to make out any quarterback shaped lumps. Glancing up to Kyle's window, Kenny saw that the light was off, meaning Stan probably hadn't been let in either. The guard dog appeared to have left. For the first time all night, something was going Kenny's way.

Kenny decided not to throw ice pebbles at Kyle's window. If his light was off, it probably meant he was downstairs or asleep. Either way, especially with how deep Kyle slept, ice pebbles would be pointless. Knocking on the door was out of the question too. It was nearly, or had just gone, midnight. If Mrs. Broflovski answered Kenny would be done for. She'd never liked him. And after he'd kicked her beloved little tree over, she flat out hated him.

That only really left one option. Retrieving the rope Cartman hid in the Broflovski shrubbery (along with a fold-away ladder, a Mission Impossible breaking and entering play set, a lock picking kit, and a bag containing a fancy dress cat burglar outfit), Kenny looped a line over the third rafter above the window, fashioning himself a winch. In no time at all he was pulling himself up the side of the house, begrudgingly wondering why the only thing he seemed to have skills in happened to be breaking and entering.

Carefully slipping himself through Kyle's window, Kenny couldn't help but wonder why he never thought to lock it. Kyle must have some idea that Cartman regularly snuck into his room to, you know, move things about, copy his homework, play with Kyle's things. Watch Kyle sleep. Whatever the fuck it was that turned Cartman on so bad. Maybe it was so Stan could sneak in? Maybe Kyle just forgot? Maybe he just felt that bad for Cartman (and his perpetual state of pathetic loneliness) Kyle couldn't bear to remove the one thing in life that seemed to give him so much joy? Whatever the reason was, Kenny didn't know. Once he'd won his man, Kenny was going to make sure Kyle started locking his window. Both to keep Stan out, as well as to piss off Cartman.

Kenny managed to avoid the bed, blindly, yet still abnormally mutely, stumbling across Kyle's dark room, raking his hands across the wall, desperately searching for a light switch. After what felt like hours spend pathetically pawing at the paintwork, Kenny managed to locate the switch, flicking the lights on. Blinking hazily to clear the blindingness of the brightness, Kenny whirled around.

Kyle was lying on his bed, sleeping on top of the covers in a sprawled out mess, still fully dressed, his mouth hanging ever so slightly open. Luckily for Kenny, Stan hadn't been allowed into the household. If Kenny had woken Stan up sneaking into his boyfriend's bedroom at gone midnight, Stan probably would have killed him. Quite literally. He probably would've thrown Kenny out the window or drowned him in the toilet or something.

Padding across Kyle's soft grey carpet, Kenny gently sat one the edge of Kyle's bed, reaching across to shake Kyle's shoulder.

"Hey, dude, wake up. I need to talk to you, yeah?"

Kyle made an incomprehensible, moaning whine, rolling over, away from Kenny.

"Dude" Kenny resumed his efforts to rouse him, tapping his back, "wake up. We need to talk."

Kyle gave in, made some incomprehensible grunt, before pulling himself into a sitting position, kneading his eyes with his palm.

"Kenny, what the fuck are you doing here? What fucking time is it?"

Kyle was wearing Stan's letterman. Kenny only just realised it. Kyle had one of his own, he'd been given it for his academic achievements and his work in the debate club and the school newspaper and all that Kyleish stuff he did, but he never wore it. He'd received it with a smile and thrown it into his closet the second he got home. Yet here he was wearing Stan's. It was too bulky for Kyle, the excess of fabric drowned his narrow shoulders, he lacked the height and the broadness and all those muscles Stan had. As valiant an effort Kyle's stocky little fame made to fill that jacket, he just couldn't manage it. It drowned him, it was covered in all of Stan's merits, all of his patches, all of his shitty jock achievements plastered across Kyle's chest, and it drowned him.

Kyle shouldn't be wearing that, Kenny thought savagely. It should be a suit, a fitted suit jacket or that heavy grey herringbone waistcoat or something, _anything_ other then that stupid letterman. Kyle wasn't designed to wear lettermans.

"Dude, Kenny? Seriously, what the fuck?"

"Sorry, just spaced out for a minute. Kyle, I need to talk to you."

Kyle blinked some sleep out of his mind, leaning back to glance at his clock. "Dude, at fucking midnight? What the fuck? Did you break into my room? Does Stan know you're here?"

Kenny bit the inside of his cheek. "I might be stupid sometimes Kyle, but I'm not that retarded. Of course Stan doesn't know I'm here. And yeah, I didn't want to wake your family so I climbed up through your window."

"Climbed through my window? Wow, that's kinda impressive. I guess."

"Dude, it's not hard. Fucking Cartman can do it."

"Didn't Stan see you?"

"He's not out there anymore."

Kyle frowned, staggering off his bed, walking up to the window. Narrowing his eyes, he scrutinised his garden via the dim patio lights and the glowing orange streetlights. After a few minutes searching, he made a sad little oh sound in his throat, crossing his arms and turning back to face Kenny.

"Dude, you _wanted_ him to still be staking you out?" Kenny asked incredulously.

"He told me he was going to stay out there 'till I agreed to talk to him, no matter how long I refused to. I guess he lied."

"Or he didn't want to get hypothermia sitting outside when its fuck-knows how low below zero." Kenny caught himself, mentally bitchslapping his mind, "Or, yeah, he lied to you. He let you down, just like he always will. He's a fucking douche who never keeps his word. You could do so much better, Kyle."

Kyle looked at the floor dejectedly, toeing at the pile of his carpet with one, sock covered foot. He looked so small, drowned in fabric, wilted and sad. Kenny couldn't help but soften.

"I mean it Kyle, you really could do so much better then him. You're an incredible human being, and Stan doesn't deserve you."

"Thank you Kenny." Was his half-hearted reply. He was still toeing at the carpet.

Kenny swallowed dryly, his heart suddenly racing.

"Kyle… I love you, dude."

"I love you too Kenny. You're one of my best friends." Still, he toed at the carpet.

"No, Kyle, I really love you."

"Yeah, me too. Best friends forever, or whatever it is." Still just toe toe toe.

Kenny chuckled dryly. "Dude, no. I'm _in _love with you. I _love_ you, in _that_ way."

The toeing foot froze.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Dude, _I love you_."

"Kenny," Kyle was beginning to panic "what are you saying?"

Kenny just hissed, before diving across the room, tackling Kyle, pushing him to the floor.

"Kenny, get the fuck off-"

Before Kyle could finish, Kenny had taken advantage of his open mouth, ramming his tongue down Kyle's throat, forcefully clamping their lips together.

* * *

A/N (long and pointless, just how I love 'em) – Major ploxstuff yah! Kenny decided to get proactive! Yeah! I've split this chapter into two bits, (God this story just keeps on going, I really don't seem to want to end it) because it got too long whilst I was writing it (and I don't think I've ended on a real cliffhanger before, and every story's gotta have one), so there are still, like two more chapters left. Or, more accurately, one chapter and an epilogue to mirror my shortarsed little prologue. Unless I merge them into one, or something. Who knows what I'll do! Certainly not me! Whoop!

You know, I got a free cakepop with my iced caramel latte Starbucks today. It was all pink and glittery and ohsoohso femme (which made it all the more special when the twenty-something guy in front of me getting tea with his dad ordered the glittery pink one too). I love Starbucks, the coffee's a bit awful sometimes, but I go there so damn often (even though it's, like, half and hours walk away) all the barista's are nice to me. Just like how the baristas' in the coffee shop at the base of my road have actually memorised my order. I just spend my student loan of coffee. Forget food or alcohol or whatever those other kids are buying. For me, I just flush it away on coffee.

I thought I'd share that with you, for no apparent reason other then to waste some of your time and because I wanted to tell someone that, I guess. I love you and clouds and stuff yeah!

Againagainagain thank you for sticking with me, for reading my itsylittlestorything. And thank you so much for reviewing. When it broke fifty I nearly ploxed, that's just so fluffy pillow awesome, I can't quite comprehend it. Never thought I'd made it into double figures when I started, and then it hit fifty awesome amazing reviews from my very lovely reviewers and it's absolutely amazing. Thank you so much.

And Jugendfrei, I thinks replying via the story is the rosy pink best, the reply to review button just seems unnatural and weird. This is the way it should be done (epic movie perfect high-five). And awwh, awesome t-shirts reminding you of me just make me feel all fluffy and light and oh so warm (dare I say, fresh cotton candyesque). Thank you Sweetheart =3


	14. Everything Was Perfect

For a minute Kenny just grinned into the kiss, running one hand up Kyle's writhing frame, latching the other around Kyle's neck. For a moment, everything was perfect. For a moment, the whole wide word was right and just and fair. For a moment, it was all worth it.

Then Kyle got a good kick in.

"Kenny, what the FUCK?" Kyle scooted back across his carpet, pressing his back against the wall, his face pale and terrified.

Kenny was on his knees, doubled over and clutching his stomach. Rubbing the spot just above his navel, the spot that was sure to develop into a lovely footprint shaped bruise, Kenny cursed quietly to himself. Kyle could really hoof it when he wanted too.

"Kenny, _what the FUCK_?" Kyle repeated, still pressing himself against the wall, hoping that the plaster would decide to be merciful and suck him inside, absolving his need to deal with this issue.

"Fuck Kyle" Kenny managed to choke out, completely winded, "I think it's fairly obvious what the fuck."

"No, dude, _what the fuck_?"

"The fuck, Kyle? The fuck is that I love you, okay? I'm fucking in love with you."

"Dude, I'm with Stan!"

Kenny's face darkened. "You don't have to be. Perhaps you really shouldn't be."

Kyle just gaped at him. "What do you mean?"

"For God's sake dude! You have one little scrap and it's like the whole worlds just fallen apart! That shit ain't healthy dude. Perhaps it'd be for the best if you just called it fucking quits."

"Kenny, it was just a _fight_! That's what people in relationships do! They fight! They argue! They act like it's the end of the fucking world! But it's not the end of the world! They get bored, they get the fuck over it and move on, and all the shitty melodrama stuff get's forgotten. I love him, I _love_ him! That's what people in love _do_! One little fight wouldn't destroy us, _nothing_ could destroy us! I _need_ him!"

"You don't _need_ anyone Kyle, you're stronger then that."

"Why didn't you just _tell_ me Kenny? We could have worked through it or watched out for it or, or, or done something!" Kyle had managed to pull himself up against the wall, still staring, wide eyed at Kenny, like he was about to attack again at any moment.

"Kyle, how do you just drop _that_ on someone! For God's sake dude!"

"Oh, yeah, because this way was _so much fucking better_!"

"This _had_ to be done!"

"Why? Why would you _have_ to do _this_?"

"Because I love you Kyle, because you belong with me, and not with Stan. Because if we were together, life would be perfect."

"Why, why would you even think… Why would you _even think_ that? Dude, I'm with _Stan_! Us-We-Together, dude, that's fucking _impossible_."

"Yeah, well the love of my life once told me nothing is impossible, and I believe him. Just like I'd believe anything you said."

Kyle clutched at his hair, staring at Kenny.

"Dude, don't fucking _say_ that!"

"What?"

"I'm _not_ the love of your life!"

"How can you know that?"

"Because _Stan_!"

Kenny's hand flew to his hair, angrily running through it. "What the _fuck_ is so goddamn special about Stan?"

"Everything!"

"No dude, he's not fucking God! There is _nothing_ special about Stan. There is _nothing_ he can do that I couldn't do better!"

"Dude! You're fucking deluded. It's _Stan_!"

"Goddamn it Kyle! He's not king of the fucking world!"

"He is to me!"

Kenny just looked at him, long and hard, dread clawing painfully at his chest.

"You're not even going to give me a chance, are you?" Kenny whispered it, fear lacing the words. He just stared at Kyle, his own eyes were wide, his own skin clammy and palled.

Kyle's fame bucked slightly, his eyes still locked into Kenny's. "Dude, it's _me and_ _Stan_. For fucks sake. He's the man I'm going to marry down in Mexico, I'm going to live with, the man who's going to share my abysmal credit rating, who I'm going to spend my whole goddamn life with, I dunno, maybe even _raise a kid_ with. Dude, I'm sorry, but…"

"You could do all that with me. You could do all that and _more_ with me." Kenny was pleading now, dangerously close to begging. Kyle could deal with anger and shock and adamant arrogance, but he was never good at dealing with emotional blackmail. He was too soft, too kind and caring, he wasn't strong enough to fight it.

"But" Kyle licked his lips, his mouth had gone completely dry, "But _Stan_."

Kenny's vision began to blur. He was getting so sick of hearing Kyle repeat that word, all the time, his only argument, the only thing stopping this wonderful thing happening. Stan Stan fucking goddamn Stan.

"Stan isn't so great" Kenny bit though gritted teeth "he's a jealous, possessive, over emotional pussy. Take him off that podium you've put him on. He doesn't deserve to be up there."

Suddenly something clicked in Kyle's mind. It clicked so hard Kenny could have sworn it made a sound.

"Stan _knew_, didn't he? This, that was why, why he did… Why he wouldn't tell me?"

Kenny sighed inwardly. Kyle wasn't at his fastest when he was shocked. His confusion was so tangible, it was positively adorable.

"Yeah, Stan knew. Cartman told him."

Kyle's eyes widened into saucers, his hands still clutching at his hair.

"Oh my God, he was just trying to protect me! Protect _you_! And I… I treated him… I acted like a _child_. We nearly…" He inhaled sharply "I nearly…"

Kyle continued to look to his left, his eyes unfocused and blurring. Suddenly, he snapped his gaze up, glaring at Kenny.

"Get out."

"Kyle, just wait, yeah I-"

"No. Get _out_." He pointed at the door, punctuating his point.

"Kyle-"

"Get the fuck out." He grabbed a t-shirt from his hamper and hurled it at Kenny. Kenny caught it easily, clutching it to his chest.

"Kyle just-"

"Get out get out GET OUT!"

He was shouting loud enough to bring his brother running. Kenny could hear his mother calling up from her bedroom, asking what was wrong. Automatically, Kenny backed to the door.

"Kyle, I-"

"OUT! For fuck's sake just LEAVE!"

By now Shelia was thumping across the landing angrily, and Ike was clutching Kyle's arm protectively, glaring at Kenny with an unreadable expression. But it was the look Kyle was giving him that pushed Kenny out the door. His eyes were wide, shocked, slightly too bright, he was still pointing, but he was shaking too. He looked terrified of Kenny, terrified and disgusted with him. Kenny couldn't bear it any longer, it was breaking his heart.

So he turned tail and ran, still clutching Kyle's t-shirt, gracelessly slamming past Mrs. Broflovski and bounding out the door.

The last thing he saw before he turned around and fled was Kyle diving across the room to grab his phone.

* * *

A/N – Whelp, that's it. Finito. Done. Only the short little epilogue to go now. One more update left. I'm quite sad. So is Kenny, he just got heartbroken. I'm uploading this chapter redic early because I have dinner plans with a friend tonight, and last time I was round hers for dinner, I got back at gone midnight, so better early then late. Still, the moral of this chapter is 'When proclaiming your undying love to a taken man, might not be the best idea to _break into his house at midnight to attack him_. Just sayin', yo.'

Once again thank you for reading, for sticking with it this far, right up until the brink of the end. Thank you thank you thank you for all the reviews, so so so lovely and kind and amazing of you. Makes me feel (candyfloss, because that's just my favourite word right now. Well, that and toeing. Toeing is an adorable word) wonderful, so thank you thank you sosososo muches.

And Zewy, yeah sorry, I do tend to repeat myself a lot (IRL too, all the time, I just say the same things for the sake of talking. I don't like silence. Silence is bad. Instead, listen to me talk about my cats for the millionth time) and it can get a bit cloying, sorry (and I fixed that goof, wupsy). Still, thank you for being such a lovely reviewer and so nice. I wish you all the best in your hat obtaining endeavours.

Sorry StylishCandy, no K2 for Kenny today. Kyle got all emotional and confused and didn't take it so great. Poor Kenny, things just don't seem to go your way.

And Savannah (man that's so much easier to spell lol), it certainly didn't end nicely (for Kenny, like. Stan'll probs be happy his boyfriend didn't strip his corset off and frolic with the usurper), but hey, someone was going to end up heartbroken. Poor Kenny, he just can't have nice things. And good luck with your search for Kenny merch, I hope you manage to find a few diamonds (and oh my mayflower Kenny PJ's would just be deadly adorable! Why don't designers ever make these awesome things? It makes no sense). Thank you so much for reviewing and for writing such lovely things to me, it makes my day to read them too =) Loves loves.


	15. My Whole Wide World

"I'm sorry, Kenny."

Kenny didn't even open his eyes. He was sitting against his bedroom wall, back pushed against the cracking, peeling paintwork, the dusty blue t-shirt Kyle had hurled at him clutched in his hands. He felt like he should be playing some depressing tapes, like he should have taped a towel over his gaping, sunny window. He didn't have the effort to be that cliché though. All he wanted to do was sit there, sit there and cry and hug his t-shirt and just stop. Stop feeling, stop breathing, stop existing.

"I _am _sorry Kenny."

Kenny opened his eyes, and Wendy knelt in front of him, wafting her aura of prima violets, fabric softener, money and diplomas towards him. Kenny sighed.

"Stan told you? He sent you, huh?"

She bit her lip, but didn't deny it. "He's worried about you. Kyle is too."

"It'd be nice if they could come see me themselves."

"Stan's a little busy."

"With what?"

"With Kyle." Kenny flinched at her frankness.

"And what's Kyle busy with?"

"Kyle's busy… He's busy being, I dunno, concerned? Confused? He's busy being with Stan."

"Why won't he talk to me?"

"I don't think he knows quite what to say." Wendy's chest heaved with a stifled sigh. "Maybe it's for the best, you know? Maybe having a break from him will lessen it? Maybe it'll help?"

"Did it ever help you?"

Wendy pursed her lips, shifting her position. She was cramping and uncomfortable, crouching on the floor, but she was too polite to ask Kenny to move. She just gritted her teeth through the discomfort, focusing on the conversation.

"No, but then we're not really in the same boat, are we?"

Kenny laughed dryly, the hollow sound echoing through his chest. "How come?"

Her lip quirked up into a wry smile. "Stan never _gave_ me any space."

"What, and you wish he had?"

"I… I'd never wish that, you know I wouldn't. But I do think it might have made it easier, you know, not being subjected to him, not having to face that thing I want but can't have. Not having to see him so happy, so happy not with me."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because I loved him too much."

Kenny pressed his head back against his wall, clutching the blue t-shirt against his chest, holding tightly on to the one piece of Kyle he'd managed to attain, on to the one part of Kyle he had. "Why do you do all this shit for him? Running around after me? Giving me all those warnings?"

"Because I still love him."

"It's been _years_. How has it not _destroyed_ you?"

"Perhaps I leant to accept the difference between loving someone, and being in love with someone. I'll always love Stan, you know, always. I'm just… I'm just not _in _love with him anymore. Being in love with someone who's in a happy, perfect relationship it, well, yeah, it sucks. But you just got to let it go. If you don't, you're just being selfish. Selfish to yourself, selfish to Stan, especially selfish to Kyle."

"I get my heart broken and you call me selfish?"

"Just think of the position you put Kyle in. You must see it."

"I did what needed to be done. I wasn't going to go down a martyr. At least… At least this way I know."

"I guess." She paused "I'm sorry you didn't get what you wanted."

"I know. Me too."

For a while she just stared, stared at the crack in Kenny's wall, looking through the plaster, trying to see something that wasn't there.

"It'll be alright, you know."

Kenny quirked his head up to look at her. "How can you _say_ that?"

"Because it'll be alright. Yeah, it hurts, yeah, you're heartbroken. But you're eighteen. You'll grow up, you'll meet someone else, you'll be happy. It'll all be alright. Just let it go, move on. You'll be okay."

Kenny just snorted disbelievingly, turning his head away from her, clutching Kyle's t-shirt so close to his chest he could feel his fingers pressing on his sternum through the tangle of fabric. He just wanted to be alone, alone with the t-shirt, alone so he could hug it, bury his face in it, alone so he could pretend Kyle was in it, was physically there, was wearing it.

xxx

xxx

xxx

Kyle sat facing Stan, his head cupped in Stan's hands, Stan's lips pressed against his forehead.

Kyle's eyes were shut, his hands gripping round Stan's ribs, their legs intertwined in some complex, locked way. Stan continued to pepper kisses across Kyle's face, Kyle continued to grip his ribs, the pink shoelace tied round his wrist twitched against his tendons as he tensed his fingers, holding Stan as hard as he could, terrified. Terrified if he didn't hold on, hold on to him as tight as possible, Stan might not still be there when he opened his eyes.

They didn't talk. They hadn't talked in a while. Well, a day, maybe two, but it felt like years, decades, millennia. They weren't used to not talking. They just didn't know what to say. What to say about Kenny, about what had happened, about what to do. They just didn't know what to do.

They'd really scared themselves this time.

Kyle was still wearing Stan's letterman. The extra fabric bunched round Kyle's narrow shoulders, the puffiness of the sleeves, it made him look a lot smaller then he was. It reminded Stan of all those times Kyle had worn his dad's jacket when they were kids, when they were eight, a long time ago, a _decade_ ago. It reminded him of all those times they'd played junior detective or consultants or whatever. Even then, even when he was drowning in heavy brown tweed, it was obvious Kyle had been born to wear suits.

"I'm sorry."

"I know sweetheart. Me too, yeah?"

"I'm just really sorry. I should have trusted you."

"Just don't ever… Don't ever… Just don't ever, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"You're my whole wide world, you know that, right?"

Kyle laughed dryly. "There's an awful lot of things you haven't seen yet Stan. An awful lot of people you haven't met too."

Stan just smiled. Stiff, unpractised, like he'd not smiled in weeks. But honest, honest and warm. "You'll always be my world, Kyle Broflovski. I wouldn't exist without you."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"You wanna play cat's cradle?"

Stan just snorted, pulling Kyle flush against him, burying his face against his neck.

xxx

xxx

xxx

Wendy was standing there, all prima violets, soft sweaters and modest skirts. Dark tights hugged her legs, smart shoes were strapped to her feet. She was looking at him with a look of pure revulsion.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Cartman."

Cartman just cleared his throat, clutching at the hem of his nice, new sweater.

"Wendy, I don't think you understand-"

"I understand just fine Cartman. I just don't care. Leave me the fuck alone."

Cartman took a step towards her, and she immediately jumped back from him. "Listen, Wendy, I-"

"Seriously Eric, don't you _ever_ come near me again."

"We've got a business assignment to do for Friday."

Wendy made a frustrated squeak, and gave him the finger. Then she was gone. All prima violets, soft sweaters and modest skirts. All gone.

xxx

xxx

xxx

It was the late one Friday when Kyle texted him. A short, impersonal text. Stan had been accepted into Boston. Stan had confirmed with Boston. There was going to be a party this weekend to celebrate. Kenny could come.

If he wanted too.

Kenny put his phone back down on his threadbare blanket, picked the t-shirt back up, brought his knees up to his chest, and he began to cry harder then he'd ever cried in his life.

Because it just wasn't fair.

Because it really, really wasn't _fucking fair_.

Because Stan was right.

Because this really was game over.

Then his phone bleeped again. Kenny blinked through his tears, reaching down, clicking open the message. It was Kyle again. This message was longer, more winded, more Kyle-esque. Kyle was asking Kenny if he could bring Stan's t-shirt back. Only it was one of his favourites, and Stan was wondering where it'd gone.

Kenny froze, tears still marring his eyes. Slowly he untangled the knot that was the dusty blue t-shirt, laying it across his legs, looking at it properly for the first time. Only now did it dawn on him that Kyle never really wore blue, that he'd never seen Kyle wear this t-shirt, that it was a vintage Denver Bronco's shirt. That it was a size to big for Kyle. That this actually wasn't Kyle's t-shirt.

That his one little bit of Kyle _actually belonged to Stan_.

Snorting, Kenny tilted his head back, cracking it against his headboard.

* * *

A/N – I got back from dinner sooner then I'd planned, so hey, two in one day. And it's over. It's all over. Twelve days or so, nearly 30000 words, and poor Kenny who never had a chance. But it's over.

I think I quite like this quick short update way of writing, but it's a tad draining. I think imma gonna have a little rest, file some things in my mind, write a few irritating, necessary Uni essays, probably blurt out a few oneshots. Once I find a new plot, I'll try taking on another multichapter.

I'm deffo going to oneshot that Denver car christening though. Stay tuned for that. Might even grow a story from that, have a few ideas about it bouncing round already. Who knows? Well, that's the joy in life. Stay tuned to find out more!

Thank you everyone who rode this out until the end. It was a heck of a fortnight, I'll give it that. Thank you thank you thank you too all of you who reviewed, even more thank you's, infinite thank you's to those of you who reviewed right the way through, who really gave me the rocket launch to finish this thing. Bro-fist, my darlings, spun sugar bright pink bro-fist.

Whelp (oh yes) that's that. So long, fare well, alp-I'm not even going to try spell that word, adieu. Until next time, sparkle safe.

Love.

(And Savannah, if you ever have any dreams about stuff happening in England or other exteame weather stuff, you'd better tell us about it sharpish so we can prepare. You can be our new early warning system! =P I hope the cathartic floofything provided by this ending was okay, sorry it's not more angstish. I am just awful and ending things angstish)


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